


Villainess' Woes

by angree_baratheon



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1850-ish, Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, Far more world building that one would expect, Fictional Culture & Tradition, Fictional Religion & Theology, Historical Fantasy AU, Isekai, Multi, Original Universe, Otome Game, Reincarnated as a Villain Trope, reincarnated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:27:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 57,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23907661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angree_baratheon/pseuds/angree_baratheon
Summary: Georgiana Bartlett fell from a horse due to exhaustion and was unconscious for the following five days. Waking up, she realises she has seen her fate six years in the future from a past life-when she was playing a dating simulation game and the doomed villainous in it carried her identity. In each route of the game, she dies.Georgiana now plots her life carefully to avoid her demise while simultaneously attempting not to upset whatever deity by being reckless and changing the overall plot line from the game she remembers. Her new goal: surviving past the age of eighteen years old.Or, that "reincarnated into a villain" trope but what happens if the villain retains her personality and attempts to smartly avoid her demise without trying to get too involved with the rest of the main characters—but then, by some twisted fate, learns that life has other plans for her?
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 143
Kudos: 424
Collections: Precious Rare and Unique, Reincarnation and Transmigration





	1. Remembering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna lie to y'all: this has been a genre and a plot which have been retold so many times before. Therefore, I take no credit to the whole "I found out I've been reincarnated as a villain plot". However, I find it surprising that I couldn't necessarily find any stories wherein no matter what the villain did, she could not erase any of the prominent flags. So, I begin wondering, "What if it stays relatively the same and the villain thought she's done a good job not altering the story majorly as to not damage her fate any further but ... in a way, things _did_ slightly change regardless? What if she tried keeping it low, but everybody noticed anyway? Not in anyway noticeable - but it's there."
> 
> And ta-da! I came up with this concept.
> 
> If I'm honest, I also attempted to publish this fiction at Wattpad, where original stories are prominently published—but I found I'm still waaaaay comfortable with AO3. No one really appreciated a separate section for Author's Note until it's gone, huh? Either way! I'm really excited to kinda - _run_ with this fiction and see where it takes me. I already have the general plot line up, but let's see if the details will change!
> 
> Extra Note: despite the trope being severely overused - all characters, names and personality you'll find are completely fictional and belongs to me. This is also a very non-accurate description of medieval times. Please do not take any details out of this fiction seriously. Additionally, I have derived inspirations from several other fictions, so it's a general concoction of History + Fantasy + Romance + Period (but also High School-ish?) Drama. Good luck!

Georgiana’s head feels like splitting.

She is sure that if she hadn’t been holding the skull between her two palms the way she is, that there will surely be a crack in the middle. Yet, as much as the headache rings, Georgiana has never been more relieved.

It’s a curious thing, after all, to have to witness a whole vision of the future. Or, well, the past.

Apparently, past lives existed. That was one fact Georgiana had slowly come to terms with in the first few hours she could get by herself. The second was that she had lived this life before. Not as a past life, per se, but as a credulous game her past life had thoroughly enjoyed. A dating simulation game of sorts.

Every time she recalls it, her head throbs as if it rejects the foreign memories.

After all, who was the lonely woman in her early twenties passing time away clicking at choices to reply to an animated character on her phone? Certainly it wouldn’t be Georgiana Madeline Rose Bartlett, daughter of one Great Lord Griffin, head of the House Bartlett in the Kingdom of Westria. No, for Georgiana is an elegant, popular and desirable lady of the court, the only heiress to the Crown Prince and future High Queen to the land she lives in.

She groans again, turning on her side and sighs.

 _Yes_ , she confirms to herself, flexing her hands—one, then two times—when she pulls it away from pinching at her head. She is Georgiana. She remembers this slender and untainted hands that she grew up with, this deep colour of crimson hair that adorns the pillow she’s resting on. She’s sure that if she limps to the mirror now, she will see her face and the bright silver eyes to which she inherits, a famous trait of her bloodline.

And that memory…

She shudders, solemnly recalling the times she has witnessed her own demise. Deaths. So many of them, no matter the choices. Georgiana winces. How could she have been so indifferent before, in that past life of hers, to barely even blink an eye every time Georgiana Bartlett was pronounced dead. Certainly, it was because she would not expect that that would be the character she is to play the moment that life ends.

Ah, ignorance. How she has taken it too lightly.

Now, she’s woken up in a new body, a new life, tattered with memories which may just tell her of her future. And her future, she realises again bleakly, is gloom.

To be reincarnated as a doomed villainess.

Georgiana suddenly feels her mouth open, wanting to cry for a father who had fussed over her and the mother who held her hand the whole time she first gained consciousness. In her past life, her parents passed away too quickly. She lived, momentarily, with her grandparents—out near the sea where the ocean spreads for miles—before she decided to make it on her own in the city. Over the religious holidays, she would return to visit them, and there would be cousins and aunts and uncles pouring in. Little babies, both growing and new, filling every inch of that house. Despite the amount, the absence of her two parents were almost always prominent.

Now, she is being re-born lavishly. Georgiana knows this better.

Miriam Bartlett may often be sickly, usually reclusive and private as a person. Yet, Georgiana is aware that Mother cares. Father, too. The memory of him being rushed, no doubt from a meeting or an appointment, just to get to her bedside. That was yesterday. They told her she’d been unconscious for five days.

Unconscious, with no way to know whether she’d been able to wake up.

 _That must’ve been terrifying_ , Georgiana laments, to not know something. To be uncertain. Especially when it comes to someone you love.

 _But what I saw was terrifying too_.

Georgiana immediately sits up. Right. Of course this would be no time to cry. She has just discovered that her life might end. If she remembers correctly, all of the events would transpire at the peak of the Grand Banquet in their last year in the Academy. That would be when she is eighteen, perhaps seventeen years old. She is now…

Georgiana looks around, finally seeing the basin of water that was left by her bedside. She reaches for it, and places it upon her laps.

She gasps.

 _Pretty_. The reflection she sees is one she’s seen so many times, yet it all appears startling all of a sudden. Her brows are fine and her lips are plumped, her cheeks soft to touch with an elongated sharpness that are just barely erasing her baby fat. On the left side of her chin, sits a beauty mark. Nothing prominent or distracting, but it stays there, enhancing the face somehow. She must have just reached puberty. Thirteen, perhaps? Fourteen.

Her breasts are yet fully formed, and she knows, as she wiggles her toes, that there will be room to grow.

 _Young_. She’s young, Georgiana concludes. _There is still time_.

Yes. The young lady Bartlett nods. Let us find a way to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: we're introduced to a new character - one of the capture target. Is Georgiana gonna throttle him? We'll see.


	2. Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited: some minor detail have been changed in the previous chapter. instead of the winter ball, it's now the "grand banquet"—that is, georgiana remembering that her life will ultimately be decided at the grand banquet where the 'final boss' (her, but with a twist) shows up.
> 
> to recap: in the last chapter, georgiana is recovering from falling down a horse, where she's remembering her past life playing an otome or dating stimulation game that is similar to the life she's presently living in. however, she discovers her character — georgiana bartlett — dies in every route. georgina, at twelve currently, begins scheming ways to ensure her survival.

Over the next few days, Georgiana realises that there isn’t much of her past life that has seeped into her current personality. If she recalls correctly, her past life—though her head stings every time she tries to vividly remember details—was a timid character. She was determined, yes. And stubborn, insisting she would be able to support herself alone in a new city. But that woman had been clumsy and was an easy prey to loneliness and biting remarks.

It was the same clumsiness that had her run straight into traffic, the same cruel remarks and loneliness that she could no longer bear which had her walk without looking over her surroundings.

Georgiana, on the other hand, was pretty much hailed like a princess since she was born.

She was coddled, pampered, and praises rain on her like the jewels and dresses her parents wouldn’t mind purchasing. Because of that, Georgiana grows confidently—both in her status as a Great Lord’s daughter, and in her appearances and behaviour. She was arrogant, of course, and she wasn’t above using her reputation as a noblewoman to put somebody in their place, but that was to be expected.

Georgiana has expectations she needs exceeding, and being unnecessarily polite or placating would not just cut it.

Hence, she is glad that whatever personality her past life had adapted hadn’t totally altered her perspective or behaviour. _For now_. Of course, remaining how she was is not ideal either. After all, if she doesn’t change, wouldn’t it mean she is only repeating what is already essentially prophesied?

 _Original Timeline_ , she writes.

_Four Capture Target:_

_Crown Prince Damian, Benjamin Black, Edward Northcott, Micah Hartford_.

She starts listing them down in a table of contents. The first bar with “Good Ending” written on top, and the other “Bad Ending”. In all, her fate reveals that there is only death waiting for her in the end—either by sword, or an immediate sentencing. And worse, all of the routes have had whoever the Main Character has chosen as partner being the one to kill her.

Georgiana huffs.

 _Funny_ , she thinks sardonically. Two out of the four people listed were someone she knew so closely. First, her fiancé. Second, her bastard brother.

 _Of course that was to be my fate_.

* * *

Out of an old custom, “ _Black_ ” was the appointed surname to any noblemen or noblewoman child born out of wedlock in the Kingdom of Westria. It was named in such a way to highlight the illegitimacy of the child, therefore rendering him without any worth to claim any inheritance from the noble parents. Though meant for it to be an efficient system to distinguish the proper heirs, many treated it as if the child with Black to his name were a disgrace.

In House Bartlett, Benjamin Black is the bastard child of Great Lord Griffin Bartlett.

Georgiana, simply put, does not like Benjamin. She admits, of course, it is because of the mere fact that Benjamin was a commoner’s child. That, and because it was the most-talked gossip among the noblewomen for months afterwards. _It was shameful_ , that was the word taught by Elric Barley when Georgiana, at age seven, was forced to play with the children of the other noblewomen. _It means your father does not love your mother enough!_

Mother’s face would alway be pale after every tea party and, upon reaching their estate, Mother sits in her chamber, never to be seen until the next few days.

Benjamin, himself, was a small child back when they were officially introduced. Smaller than Georgiana had been, even! Though Father informed the both of them later that Benjamin was the same age, if not a year older. His tanned skin was sickly and his overgrown hair was unkempt and smelled. He was frowning the whole time, unfriendly and slow.

Georgiana dislikes him, and it helps that Mother turned a blind eye every time she blamed Benjamin Black for any wrongdoing.

In the Original Timeline, Benjamin Black was tormented due to his bastardy status. In spite of that, he did go through all of his lordly lessons and, at a special request stamped and approved by the Head of Family and Domestic Affairs, was permitted to join the Academy the same year as Georgiana had been. However, neither act like siblings nor as if they ever knew one another. Georgiana, having grown then, gave up on any harassment towards her bastard brother and was instead persistent at ignoring any relations tying them together.

Benjamin was mostly isolated and often sought comfort at the Academy’s stable where they have placed his favourite horse, Moonshine, at.

There, he met the Main Character, and their love story began.

Georgiana sighs.

Truly, it wasn’t as if she was against the both of them, but what was it, she wonders, that has the Main Character so appealing to these men? So much so that she, a well known daughter of a Great Lord, was annihilated without anybody blinking an eye.

 _No_ , Georgiana reprimands slowly, frowning. It was her own fault. In the Original Timeline, she was fully driven by envy and rage that she had turned quickly to dark magic and summoned a Dark Spirit in exchange for her soul. It was a foolish thing to do, criminal. She went against everything she had tediously worked for, but…

She’d been humiliated.

Everybody, in that timeline, has sided with the Main Character earlier in the semester. She was alone. _She was lonely_.

Georgiana watches Benjamin gallop a few times with Moonshine from where she is in the building. He looks undisturbed, common in his simple attire of shirt and pants. If it hadn’t been for the same crimson red hair and silver eyes, he would’ve been a staff of the estate for all that she cares.

Georgiana turns, mind made up, and walks herself to the family stable. 

There, she hears Benjamin shushing another horse, Windire, down while Moonshine takes a sip. That was his main characteristic, Georgiana recalls, that Benjamin has more affection towards animals due to the cold upbringing of the Bartletts. He found them more soothing, and he thought it was boorish. The Main Character had giggled, and told him otherwise.

Georgiana rolls her eyes openly, not caring if Benjamin had noticed her presence and had seen.

At twelve years of age, Benjamin is the same height as she is. They’re both lanky, and only slightly taller than the other children. Georgiana knows however that Benjamin will soon grow just as much as she would. A noble descendent of a warrior, they share an uncharacteristically tall and imposing presence other than their hair and eyes. Benjamin will soon tower over all the other male leads and he will look infuriating with his body fill, his demeanour distant.

“Milady.” Benjamin quips the moment he catches her shadow, finally.

He lowers his head, the same inferior action which both angers and pleases her in the past, and clasps his hands obediently in front of him, as if awaiting order. At this age, Georgiana still sometimes just comes by to mock him, reminds him of his place. She is a cruel girl, no wonder this man could potentially become the one who plunges a sword right into her stomach.

“You.” Still snippy, her voice is arrogant. Rich with privilege. “Come have tea with me tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i. before anybody asks or speculate: there will definitely be no incest-inclined plots at all in this fiction (this includes sis-con elements tbh). or, at the very least, it'll be nothing that our villainess will experience. i'm actually really looking forward to write out georgiana's view and personality, and how it meshes up with her attempting to get along with her bastard brother since she has had a strict and very prejudiced view of him before!!!!!! 
> 
> like i'm really aiming to flesh out a fairly realistic portrayal, you know? she won't immediately be on "good terms" with him, and benjamin, of course, would have his reservations since he was basically harassed and heavily neglected before. but will they come to a point of understanding? how will georgiana treat him now that she realises her mistreatment is basically pointless? ah!!! so many potential!!!
> 
> ii. of course, certainly, there is no excuse to georgiana's behaviour and extremely poor mistreatment no matter her background, but please also remember that i never aim for this to be a straightforward story. she's a very proud child from a very spoilt environment, and there is a lot of social norm in her upbringing that has allowed her to think what she's done is acceptable. will she eventually change? maybe she will, maybe she won't. she's here to tackle her issues head-on even if the results don't come out as linear as we expect a math equation to be— _that's_ the story. 
> 
> certainly, if any of these issues are triggering at all to you — bullying, neglect, even abuse (particularly as the chapter goes on and more characters are introduced), manipulative behaviour, violence etc — i implore you to proceed with caution and keep yourself safe. if at any point you decide to leave this fiction and exit the page, i will absolutely understand and hold no contempt.
> 
> iii. also yikes, if you ever find out that the information may be slow to drop onto your laps - considering, as we're reading this from georgiana's point of view, and thus, should be equipped with whatever she already knows - the reason is just because i'm trying my best to pace out all of the details without overwhelming any readers. the thing is, this fiction... has definitely grown a tad larger than i expect. there are details to each of the character's background and i have even came up with history back when their kingdom have only started just to solidify more where everybody stands in the story.
> 
> some of the things might still... end up _wonky_ , but i'll make sure to try adding footnotes (hopefully not as long as these though i doubt so cause i have so much to say all the time) to clear a few things up along the way.
> 
> iv. in the end, i'm just really having fun creating this whole tiny universe, and sharing it with other people!!! i'm really glad i decided to go ahead and publish this. here's to watching georgiana, benjamin, and many of our other characters grow!!!!


	3. Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited:
> 
> i. in _chapter two_ , some of the spellings are corrected. nothing major.
> 
> ii. in this chapter, i cleared up regarding benjamin taking one whole day off due to the anniversary of his mother's death.

“You.” Georgiana’s voice is clear—a voice of someone who is fully aware of her authority and power. “Come have tea with me tomorrow.”

To say Benjamin is shocked would be an understatement. His own silver eyes widen and his mouth parts, surprised. Georgiana feels like laughing, a true trait of a villainous, to find the shock of others amusing instead of concerning. Gods, she wonders if she is doing the right thing. She could not just wait around for death to roll right over, and yet…

Is she truly doing the right thing?

“Milady?” Benjamin croaks, unsure.

Georgiana feels hesitancy creeps up her demeanour, but she stands firm. “I shall not repeat myself unless you are incompetent of hearing. Are you?”

Benjamin blinks. Poor boy.

“Good,” she answers without wasting another second. She has come here still in her dress. The bottom of it would be filthy. She wouldn’t know how to explain to her worrying maids why when she changes later. “Afternoon, an hour after lunch, right before your training, I hope. Should it coincide with any of your lessons, inform me before—never afterwards.”

She leaves him there, gaping.

In all honesty, Georgiana knows better than to hope she could fully reconcile with the bastard brother she had done so many wrongs towards. She wasn’t looking for an apology, even. In fact, seeing him there, fully in front of her, so unguarded, it had taken everything in her to not come forward and wrap her hands around his neck. _Anything_ , just to secure her life past the age of eighteen. But committing a murder at such a young age could mean an equal ending, just quicker, so she refrains herself and falls back to the original plan.

Tea.

Gods… she really has no idea what she’s truly doing, huh? 

Of course, the end result was just to mend things _slightly_ between the two of them. Georgiana still isn’t very pleased that Father allows this stranger to walk freely into their estate, but she understands better than anyone that he is here to stay. Whether the Original or Reversed Timeline, Benjamin’s presence means one thing: he was there to inherit Father’s title as soon as Father retires. The only reason Benjamin has not yet been legitimised was due to Father taking into account Mother’s feelings.

But he would be, Georgiana is convinced of this now. In the Original Timeline, there would be no other heir besides he. Father and Mother would have to renounce any relations to her if they wanted a slight of their reputation preserved, and they would need to retake their pledge in the Holy Church of the Lights if they wish to be recognised as a Great House and citizen of this Kingdom.

Benjamin would then rise to follow after Father, just as he’d been groomed to be since he was first taken in.

 _There is no use fighting_ , is what Georgiana concludes. _I need not his forgiveness, and_ … in the end, it would’ve been nice to be civil to a brother. In her past life, she was born a single child, and her cousins the opposite. Their grandparents’ house, she remembers faintly, would be noisy with chatters and laughter and gossip. She has had cousins who were older than her and had taken on a sisterly and brotherly role.

She knew then that it would always be temporary. Cousins were the relatives and people you would meet once, if not a few times, in a year. In this life, she has a yearly-round brother. Yet, social statuses divide them and destroy her thinking.

She still sees his status low and it would be easier, she believes, to continue to hate him. But, again, there would be no use fighting what has clearly been decided.

 _If we can be even the slightest of friendly_...

_Then, maybe, I won’t be so alone._

The ache of that moment where she had been isolated by her peers in the Original Timeline feels dull, but persistent. Georgiana shakes her head, and thinks of the appropriate tea she could share over with her bastard brother.

* * *

The day after comes soon enough.

As promised, Benjamin comes on time, fitted in clothing more appropriate of a Great Lord’s son. Georgiana is already sipping on her tea, eyes casting curious glances over their estate by the window. Their grandmother’s garden is blooming well.

“Come. Sit.” Georgiana voices when Benjamin seems to be hovering, trying her best to keep her tone neutral but knowing it had come out sharp and cruel regardless.

Benjamin moves robotically, but eventually finds himself across from his noble sister.

Georgiana is still sipping her tea. She has picked something that is more smoky than sweet, hoping quite ridiculously that he doesn’t find it unappealing and worsens whatever image she already has. 

“How were your morning lessons?”

Benjamin is still idly touching the cup, brows furrowing the same way when he had first come to their estate. A suspicious child. What was it again that happened to him when he was young? Georgiana remembers the Game explaining it to the Main Character, but her head draws blank. Father, she knows from memories, speaks no longer of Benjamin’s mother—just that she passed, and there would be a day where Benjamin would be excused from all lessons and training and dinner. The anniversary of his mother's death.

The bastard brother of hers looks up, mouth twisting, but in the end huffs. “Fine,” He answers, taking the cup to his lips and finally drawing his first sip. He does not react any other way, just looks at the cup again and sips some more.

 _He acts less like a noble with me_ , Georgiana thinks irritatedly. _Or maybe that was a part of his personality trait?_ What was so charming about him that he had stood out as a capture target?

“The last time Father dined with us, he informed you were having trouble with your studies.” Benjamin wasn’t as quick to catch up with his academics even though he was expected to. It was one of the few things he had bonded with the Main Character— _stupidity_.

Oops. Georgiana shakes her head, and inwardly scolds herself. Outwardly, Benjamin’s frown seems to harden, ready for any insults coming his way. 

Georgiana feels a headache rising but she holds her hands where it is splay on the cotton-covered table.

“Relax,” she snaps, despite herself. “I did not say it to offend you.”

Benjamin’s head rises. He’s still frowning. “Weren’t you?”

This time, Georgiana openly rolls her eyes. She takes on one of the biscuits splay by the tray in the middle of their table, hoping the sugar would at least salvage this conversation somehow. “No.” She tells, selecting over her options. “Believe it or not. I just wanted to say that Father is correct. You need help.”

Benjamin frowns some more, his shoulders dropping a little. Their etiquette teacher would have had a heart attack.

“I can tutor you. I’m intelligent.”

Tutoring doesn’t seem so bad, even though it wasn’t what she planned to talk to him about. It can just take an hour. They could do it by the library, alternate between his weaker subjects. It was always important to keep up with your scholarly knowledge, but in the grand scheme of things, the necessity of being a lord doesn’t depend on the philosopher you choose or the history you know. It depends on your decisions, and how you react to the circle around you.

Benjamin looks perplexed, pale even.

“Why?” He manages.

Georgiana shrugs one shoulder. “I told you. I’m intelligent.”

“No. Why… all of these?” He gestures towards the table, frowning harder. “Just tell me, Milady. You need not mock me in such a roundabout way. I understand my place completely. I am below you.”

Georgiana bares her teeth, and, for a moment, she sees red bleeding by the edges of her vision. _How dare he spoke to her so easily when she was_ — Georgiana stops herself, and refrains from pressing her palm right against her temple. How silly would it be to repeat this word when he kills her in the future? _I am below you_.

_Would that be the same reason, my bastard brother, for you to slay me so simply?_

Georgiana watches him for a moment, and then realises, with agony, that he is trembling.

 _He is aware of the way he has voiced. He is afraid of the consequences_. Georgiana grits her teeth together, and then, as if by sheer power of will, sighs aloud. “You are an idiot, and I am tutoring you! What is so difficult to understand?”

Benjamin doesn’t answer her.

She stops trying to raise another conversation afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i. ultimately, this could be categorised as a filler chapter — except i'm also lying down some groundwork to establish georgiana's personality and her interactions (also views!!) with the world around her. again, i'm really trying my best to introduce the characters and settings as best as i could without rushing all of the information althooooough next chapter would be an insight to the whole seven-years-ahead plot that georgiana will finally reveal to us!!!!
> 
> ii. again, this is more to establish who benjamin is as a character — and how georgiana responds to him. i've always found it, like, too simple?? when the villainess' character or a broken relationship could be mend so easily in the stories i've read regarding these type of plot because, for me, a personality shift where the villainess completely went 180-degree on their mindset is a little off-putting. 
> 
> it's more - than just "lets just be nice, and i'm sure everything will work out okay", because it isn't. real life's more complicated than that. it isn't an excuse, definitely, but i've always wished somebody would write a slightly realistic portrayal because, for georgiana, it's her having to tear down YEARS of a specific mindset and teaching and social culture. she's reaching out right now, and she's not doing it very well and she's struggling, and benjamin's wary as all hell (which is important!!!! he doesnt trust her!!!), and that's - that's what i wanted to portray, you know?
> 
> iii. aaaaaah okay i'm just rambling a lot at this point (again) but!!! i swear the next chapter we're finally getting more clues as to what's happening and what is our villainess planning. thank you so much for reading and hope to see you guys in the next update!!!!


	4. Revelation

Benjamin is… not at all an easy student.

Georgiana isn’t sure if it lies in her that the books and scrolls and calculations come easier, or that Benjamin’s just not very good at it. Either way, his wariness towards her certainly doesn’t help their issues. It’s remarkable how he manages to hold his tongue out of habit and yet still causes her ire all at the same time.

Regardless, Benjamin comes dutifully, three days in a row now, and the maids at hand will provide them supper afterwards.

“Do you truly still not understand it?”

Benjamin gives me a pinched sort of expression which Georgiana has somehow managed to translate between the exhaustion of the day catching up to him and that, yes, none of what she was explaining was coming through. Georgiana holds her breath, counts, and blows it out. That’s enough patience she has spent on him.

Georgiana closes her own set of books. Benjamin, across from her, breathes out, relieved, and mimics her movements. _Jupit’s Philosophy The Third Edition_ retired for that night.

While waiting over the maids and butler at hand fussing over their supper, Georgiana takes a quiet contemplation to recall the past few days. She will need more time to truly access her bastard brother’s progress in order to recognise his academic strengths. Though for now, she could almost be certain that literature and philosophy will not be one of them.

 _To teach him the basics of calculations will do_ , Georgiana thinks, nibbling on the sandwiches placed in front of her. _Maybe a little history. I wonder when Father will allow Benjamin to shadow him, perhaps he’ll learn faster if it involves more than just to stare at books_.

“What are you thinking?” Benjamin’s voice breaks through her thoughts.

For the rarest of times, it’s Georgiana’s turn to be startled. Benjamin rarely instigates any interactions with her. Understandable, considering the treatment he’s been receiving the moment he stepped foot in the mansion. Yet, there he goes.

Perhaps it’s the long day that’s taking its toll. Her bastard brother grows uncharacteristically bolder.

Benjamin is still staring at her, nibbling at his own sandwiches, though slower, waiting for an answer. She wonders what she could say. _Oh, nothing, just the fate of leaving our House into your hands once I am no longer here_. No, she imagines that would raise more suspicion.

And it’s sad, to think of it now so objectively, so matter-of-factly. For now, she has all of these dresses and books and riches and a comfortable home to herself. But years later, she will be condemned. She does not wish to be executed and yet, like a man on his deathbed, she thinks of a future where her parents would lose a daughter.

“Where do you go—” She answers instead, not quite looking back at him, “—if you’re not dining with Mother and I.”

A change of topic.

Not that said topic-changed-to were anymore pleasant than idling the thoughts of her dying. Still, it is a far tolerable pill to swallow: the fact that Benjamin does not sit at the table with them if Father is not around. It wasn’t that Georgiana was particularly curious, if she were honest—dining with Mother, regardless if she excuses herself far earlier than she should sometimes, was always pleasant.

Before, the absence of Benjamin could nearly fool her that she was the single child loved by the Bartlett pair. Father never entered an affair, and Mother never once wore those depressing faces she would hide when she thought no one was looking. She was their only child, and her place in the house was cherished.

“I have my dinner in my room,” Benjamin answers, surprisingly calm despite what must’ve been an intrusive question.

Georgiana contemplates this, then hums agreeably. That seems to make sense, even if she would have deduced that logically without him explaining.

“I will only be tutoring you four to three days in a week. Is that acceptable?”

He could not take too much of her time. Though she wishes not for the House her Father protects to fall into ruins at the hands of a bastard, she would have done nothing tending to him by the time she enters the academy and the first flag rises. She’s already met with an unfortunate end in her past life, to see this one finished at age eighteen…

Georgiana represses a shudder just as Benjamin hums right back. “Yes.”

“That’s settled.” She replies back, now sipping the warm milk served. “Let’s pray you have more luck in calculating.”

Benjamin huffs, petulant, and somehow Georgiana doesn’t find it as disrespectful as she should.

* * *

There is certainly no way around it.

She’s thought it through plenty of times and had even gone through different scenarios from various angles. For now, her memories of the Game are still so clear, but other information regarding her past life starts to fade by the edges. She could scarcely remember how she looked like when she had known it before, just that she had dark hair and it was short.

She suspects memories of the Game would eventually leave the premises of her mind as well one day, though for now, the walk-through she could replay in her head is helpful.

As she’s written before, there are four capture targets in the game. It somehow stretches over three years, beginning in their first semester at the prestige Academy, ending at the Grand Banquet, an annual fundraising ball sponsored especially by the Imperial Family.

In all of the routes available, Georgiana Bartlett, fiancé of the Crown Prince, is the main antagonist. At first, the harassment was light and almost predictable. Georgiana was told off eventually, which only resulted in harsher pranks and violent mistreatments in their second year. Somehow, in an attempt to humiliate the Main Character during the Academy’s annual Winter Ball, her misdeed was found to have taken way too far. 

She was eventually sold out by her entourage at the Crown Prince and the rest of the capture targets' threat.

Their engagement was annulled following the break into their third year, and, for a moment, it looked as if things finally grew peaceful. The Main Character then were encouraged to use this chance to get closer to their desired capture target, resulting in them attending the Grand Banquet together. However, half-way through the joyous ceremony, the earth rumbles and the wall cracks.

Dark and black magic seeps through and it is revealed that a Dark Spirit has taken over Georgiana’s body, attempting to cause rampage. 

All capture targets seem to want to secure the Main Character, until she witnesses other students getting injured while she could escape away. Out of a sense of blind justice, the Main Character went past her protection circle and faced the Dark Spirit herself—only to find out that she possesses the rare Ethereal Magic within her, and was able to weaken the power of the Unholy.

The chosen capture target of her choice then would come forward to slay Georgiana’s weakening body with the Blessed Sword.

Of course, the “Good Ending” would have had the Main Character suspecting Georgiana’s odd behaviours earlier. She would have decided to investigate and discover the scheme right before the start of the Ball and manage to have Georgiana arrested. Awaiting trial, it was indicated that Georgiana will be heavily sentenced before the narration trails off to mention the fate of everybody else—but Georgiana, remembering all these, knows better.

Tempering with Dark Magic, threatening to harm a citizen especially one so recognised and adored by not just a member of the Imperial Palace but three other Great Houses? Georgiana pinches the bridge of her nose, hoping it will lessen the throbbing pain that’s starting to appear across the front of her skull.

She would have reprimanded said reckless villainous if she has no doubt that the character embodies the entirety of her name, personality, history and plausible future.

No matter how many times she has wrapped her head around it, it almost seems impossible: at that point, she had worked so diligently, as the future High Queen, to dedicate her time and favour to the Imperial Family and the citizens it looks after. It seems pointless to her, witnessing all of it now, that she would be simple and seek the art of the forbidden so carelessly.

 _Simple…_ but was it really?

Perhaps she was being too hard on herself. In all of the routes, she lost the validation and support of nearly everybody she had thought would always be by her side. _That must be shocking_ , Georgiana thinks of it now, brows bunching together. _To be driven to the corner, to feel as if your hands were strictly tied._

After all, there were all just harmless pranks—No.

If it could bring the ire of the Imperial Family and three of the Great Houses, she would have to think her life through. Her goal is now not to stay here any longer, but to live a long fulfilling life past the age of eighteen.

She wishes _not_ to tamper with the main storyline of the Main Character in the case it may upset any balance of this damn universe—let the damn wench meet all of her knights in shining armour for all that Georgiana cares—but the end result must be that she escapes. There’s nothing that could guarantee her safety if she remains here as a part of the elites in the Kingdom.

The Main Character could play it out and the blame would fall on Georgiana once more.

 _That’s terrifying_ , Georgiana laments now, ignoring etiquette and lies across the book she’s been revising. _To have the good grace of four influential young men_.

 _Even my bastard brother, that slow dim-witted creature_. Georgiana huffs, just as she could hear distantly how her handmaid fusses over her. How would Father react if Georgiana tells him now—that Benjamin could possibly severely harm her in the future? Surely, there’d be _someone_ who would mourn.

The Game has made it so simple. Even her damning fiancé barely shed a tear.

“Oh, Little Lady, what is the matter?” Willow, her handmaid, sweats, gentle hands caressing the top of her head and back. _She must be shocked_ , Georgiana muses quietly. _Certainly I’ve never behaved like this_.

No, Georgiana Bartlett was the perfect aristocrat lady.

 _Unfortunate_ , she blinks at a blueing Willow. _You must serve this Kingdom’s Villainess_.

“I wonder if I could be allowed in the kitchen, Willow,” Georgiana explains in the end.

Willow’s hands caressing over the Lady she has served for the last thirteen years halt. A look of shock passes over the maid’s face, before it turns into a frightening concern. “My lady! What ever could you need from there that I could not fetch?”

At that, Georgiana gives out a small smile, amused. “Silly Willow. Why, of course,” The answer is simple, “I would like to learn how to cook.”

She needs to learn a trade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i. again, it's - still quite slow-going. still me establishing characters, laying the ground work, and exposing where georgiana is at, mentally, and how she's really taking everything in. but i swear this leads to somewhere! idk if i've mentioned this before, but i've written this story slightly ahead. so whatever chapter this story published, i possibly have had the next four chapters already in-store. therefore, i assure you, everything _does_ lead somewhere.
> 
> ii. also lmaoooo idk if it's obvious but my favourite character is benjamin. and... my favourite house are the bartletts. (am i bias? perhaps.) ah! but then again, i haven't really revealed other capture targets, but, yeah. i have hell of a time developing them, and even writing few of them already [insert eye emojis] and, of course, i've sketched them!!! might reveal those later, yeah.
> 
> iii. ugh also i did mention that this story is more of a mixed up medieval + fantasy concoction but, folks, i might've gotten it wrong. i feel like victorian age would be more appropriate to place this story at, except victorian age is also the craziest age like....... u guys, they have arsenic wallpapers and lead toys im????? but still, like, maybe the aesthetics i lean more would be victorian era (maybe around 1850s??), though i was fond of medieval tradition due to my obsession to game of thrones. but please! this is not historically accurate at all. (i also figure medieval theme would be more cooler if i added more war + gore + just hardcore content but that has never really been what i intended with this fiction??? so???? might revisit this idea, might not.) again, i derive this fiction from a lot of sources but in the end, the kingdom(s) is entirely fictional!
> 
> thank you again for reading! next chapter: we see georgiana's attempt at picking up trades as well as a new visitor? hmm. thinking emoji.


	5. Insignia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the previous chapter: Georgiana and Benjamin studies. Benjamin struggles. Georgiana finally lays down what would happen to her in the future. We continue.

Aside from a surprisingly successful porridge and nearly-edible-enough fried chicken, it turns out Georgiana Bartlett does not possess the easy talent at cooking. Though she suspects it is mainly due to the fact that several maids and kitchen staff were constantly hovering and puffing out their worries every time she moved as much as an inch around the damned kitchen.

Even the slightest chance that she may be sliced by the knife she uses cause several of them to nearly faint.

“What are you doing?” Benjamin asks, straightforward as ever.

He has come to pick her up from the kitchen the moment he catches wind of the news that she has been tattering about in there. Mother asked her the same thing over their dining table the very first day she had attempted to join the chef. Then, Georgiana has readily explained that she is merely expanding her skills—hoping it would reward her as the High Queen To Be.

Mother, while taken aback, seems to have thought it was a good-enough reason.

However, she has a feeling that it wouldn’t be as easy to flimsily lie to Benjamin. It would be the reasonable conclusion to accept them now, certainly, but Georgiana will continue to adapt more life skills if she is hoping to survive as a commoner one day, on-the-lam or otherwise.

Mother will simply hear reports, which mainly would sound harmless, but Benjamin could witness everything directly. Despite his slow taking of the academics, Georgiana has the suspicion that he would develop different theories overtime. After all, no High Queen was ever expected to cook. That excuse in itself is disastrously flawed.

“I’m frustrated,” Georgiana grumbles, the typical act of a spoiled child. “I simply want to feel what it would be like to prepare my own lunch and dinner. Surely I could do much better, was what I thought.”

Benjamin has the corner of his lips tilted. “Reality must have come out crueler than. I was wondering why there was black smoke coming from the Kitchen House.”

Georgiana’s cheeks redden. Ah! How Humiliating! “Frying was not as simple as I thought!”

This time, Benjamin turns his head, but Georgiana knows without peering that the boy is laughing at her. How ridiculous. “I do hope the cook has enough sense not to serve us the blackened vegetables of your doing.”

“Certainly not,” Georgiana grumbles some more. “I’m quite sure I covered it with too much salt.”

Benjamin laughs, this time a bit more openly. Georgiana, in spite of herself, smiles along.

“You’ve grown cheeky, brother. I assure you, one day you will rue the day you dare mock me.”

Benjamin halts his steps and grows stiff. Perhaps the tone she’s used had put him back in place. Good. Georgiana goes past him and straight to the dining area.

Benjamin, in the meantime, stares after her shadow. _Brother_ , she calls. That was the first time.

* * *

Cooking has not grown simpler even after a few days. Neither does her attempt at baking give any fruition.

In fact, she has grown depressed half way through her efforts when she realises baking were one of the skills the Main Character seems to excel at. Georgiana does not like to be reminded of her failures—enough that she could potentially lose her life, but it seems that one of the most significant life skills to feed herself was something the Main Character has long conquered.

Good for her.

The maids, in the meantime, grow restless. Georgiana certainly doesn’t blame them. Her routine before was already jam-packed with lessons after lessons. If not, to tea parties and socialising. Now, she’s adding additional hours to tutor Benjamin while trying to squeeze in time into learning additional trades. 

The maids are theorising that perhaps she’s been possessed after falling down the horse.

 _Possessed_ , Georgiana snorts. _That would be years from now. Be patient_.

For now, she writes swiftly across the entry of her journal. The progress of all the trades she could acquire before the age she is to be sent to the Academy. Then perhaps, afterwards, she could request to see over the countryside or near the borders. That is where she will aim to stay, after all, once she escapes.

“Milady.” Willow’s voice is gentle, but firm. 

_Sisterly_ , is what Georgiana would describe of her. Appropriate, she supposes. Willow has been working under House Bartlett since the age of ten, if the stories she told were right. She was thirteen when Mother gave birth to Georgiana, and has been personally tending to her ever since.

“Are you still fretting, Willow? Nothing has happened. You know I didn’t burn my hand.”

She couldn’t even come close to putting the pie, which was mostly done by the kitchen maids anyway, into the oven. They promised to call for her once it is baked, so that she could perhaps decorate it over with whips and fruits. That seemed like a good compromise all things considered, especially when the alternative was them simply ushering her away, though the wait is long and tedious.

“Milady, this came.” Willow comes forward. In her hand, a letter.

Another invitation? Usually those were inserted among others. And, ever since the fall, many noble girls were understandable enough to not be insistent of her presence in their social gatherings. Georgiana has expected to face them, sooner or later, but...

No. This was worse.

The Imperial Family Insignia burns across the wax stamp.

Georgiana opens the letter—precise, unhurried. Even when all the alarms are sounding inside her head. She reads. The Crown Prince is coming?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i. I am absolutely mad at myself for typing such a short chapter. Like, who allowed? But then again... Suspense. Cliffhangers. Like all cliched writers, I am certainly fond of them.
> 
> ii. For a long time now, I've been considering posting any new chapter at a regular time (aka every week on Monday etc); I wonder if it would motivate me more if I have the thrill of a deadline, or if it would kill my muse faster if I begin pressuring myself. Ah, the wonders of writing. For now, I'll try aiming for a seven-day in-between for updates. This chapter is published on the May 21st (my time) — therefore, the next update should be on 28th! (If I'm not too eager uwu)
> 
> iii. Also, who's a fan of Georgiana being tired and sarcastic about her own doomed future?
> 
> Somebody else: Oh no :( I'm the villain! I'm gonna be hated!  
> Georgiana, at age 12, knowing she'll be a villain: Now, now. Spare all that hatred when I'm at my Peak Villainess please and thank
> 
> Next chapter: We catch a glimpse of Georgiana's past with the Imperial Family and how the engagement came to be. Will new revelations come to light? Perhaps.


	6. Engaged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the last few days, I have completely submerged myself in this fanfiction where the theme is heavily based on war during a fantasy / medieval setting (I think) and I almost cracked my head open because?????? Apparently I am _that_ easy to be tempted into adopting some of that elements into this fiction. But I was like! bella no! because ultimately, I did make a deal with myself to keep Villanesss' Woes' genre as light as I am able to, you know? Of course, there's still triggering content (as I've mentioned back in chapter 2, I believe?) but nope. No, bella. (That's me.) We are NOT making this any darker. Nope.
> 
> With that said, previously: Georgiana gets depressed while attempting to bake. Benjamin gets really surprised when he's being called "brother". The Prince sent a letter informing Georgiana he'll visit.
> 
> Also! I honestly did not expect to get the amount of attention I did towards an original story? But - there you guys are, leaving kudos and comments and I'm like, honestly the pikachu meme every time I got an e-mail notification about it. I probably have said it already, but _thank you again_ , like! I am blown away for real. Trust me when I said I read every comments I received and I will try my best to respond to them. So, yes, let's continue on to our next chapter, shall we?

The agreement to the betrothal was apparently predicted long before the children were even conceived.

Or, at least, that’s how the story went.

Originally, the duty to provide the candidates for Crown Princess fell to the Council and the Holy Circle of the Church. Father, at that time, were still unwed and new to Great Lord duties and therefore, mostly excused from participating in the particular discussion. However, grave news suddenly came that the High Queen was unable to carry an heir, and a secondary plan went into motion.

Crown Prince Damian Alexander Guillaume Leighton was born in the peak of Spring. It was said that the labour was long, but the delivery efficient. Seamless. He was placed in His High Majesty’s arms not an hour later, kissed to his two cheeks, while all citizens in the Kingdom roared in its celebration.

 _Here comes our Prince_ , they cheer and sing. _So small and dainty, till he grows to be King!_

His birth enticed two full weeks of holidays.

An agreement somehow was made when a Priest insisted that House Bartlett is the next best match. Father however, wary, begged for the Imperial Palace to hold off any official announcement. The reason is unclear, though when Georgiana thinks of it now, perhaps he had known that the burden to hold a country’s approval must have been too much on any future daughter. That, or he was anxious.

At that age, Griffin Bartlett had probably just gotten married with Miriam Todd, a quiet daughter of a Count. As far as Georgiana had been concerned, her parents had always been civil and friendly with one another. Her father, endlessly respectful, and her mother, in return, generously loyal. 

The story went that most of their engagement prior to their first official meeting was entirely arranged. Father, by his secretary and late Grandmother, and Mother, by her own father. Perhaps, stepping into a loveless marriage, father had been unready to share the heavy expectation of giving the Royal Court a suitable partner for the young prince.

Regardless, Father eventually falls in love with Mother over the years. By the time Georgiana was five, she could recall Father and Mother shyly exchanging kisses before Father had to go away in favour of a matter to be dealt that very evening.

The talks of engagement between the Imperial Family and House Bartlett were brought up again a few years later. Father tried fending it off, eventually losing the argument when there’d been no sufficient reasons to hold the matter off altogether. Georgiana remembers never having understood why Father and Mother were so endlessly worrying—isn’t it the request of a royal family? That usually means it’s absolute.

Why bother arguing?

Finalising the engagement as early as the age of eight years old, Father was insistent in making sure Georgiana was comfortable with the decision.

“To not even wait until she debuts,” she once overheard Father moaned, anguished, hunched over his chair while Mother laid a hand on his shoulder. An effort to comfort, Georgiana thought. “She’s so little yet.”

“Surely there’s bound to be a reason.” Mother has hushed. Through the cracks of the door however, Georgiana could see that she, too, looks unhappy. Brows furrowed, her lips pulled into a pressed frown. “The Gods would not forsake us simply.”

“Why must she carry the title to marry, when she has not yet shed the title of being our precious daughter?” Father’s shoulders shook, but Georgiana had scurried away so quickly, confused by what she heard, and terrified when she could hear Harrison approaching the hall.

Still, it did not deter the thrill she felt whenever she heard that she’d been wanted by the Imperial Family. She was small and easily excitable. She was engaged to the Prince! She was meant to marry the beautiful boy from the Great Palace! There was no way she would have interpreted the arrangement as anything but a blessing.

As stated, they met when they were eight. Their first meeting. House Bartlett was invited to the Palace, and there Georgiana was, gawking at the high ceilings and huge gardens and the sublime guards barely glancing at them in passing as they walked to the appointed room. Father had no longer looked so gloom, and Mother wore her prettiest necklaces.

Georgiana remembers the Crown Prince as polite, with a smile that could understandably charm the whole nation into two weeks of extravagant celebration post his birth. Of course, logically, there had been no way that the crowd could actually witness His Highness being a beautiful fixture then—but it had seemed to make sense anyhow to the eight year old enchanted Georgiana when they were first introduced.

Even at that age, Prince Damian had appeared so wise and mature. His demeanour is that of an adult, when he is able to not only keep up with the conversations between Father and the King’s Secretaries, but make amble conversations with Mother as well. Georgiana used to think that she was brilliant as a child, having conquered her lessons far earlier than her peers—but as entranced as she’d been meeting with the absolutely regale prince, she knew by comparison that she was still childish and immature.

Still, hair a dark shade of black and eyes the reflection of a yellow sapphire, Prince Damian had never once made her feel impoverished when they interacted. He acknowledges all of her hobbies, and responds perfectly to every tale she could come to think of.

To state it was infatuation then would’ve been an understatement. 

That sole meeting—signatures being taken, hands were shook— by their prospective guardians changed Georgiana’s entire _world_.

She has not rested since.

Everything she’s done and learnt was for the sake of becoming the best High Queen to-be that she could. Of course, things eventually returned relatively normal afterwards. The Imperial Family hadn’t made much contact, but Georgiana knew her engagement was as real as the necklace of silver she was given and held on to as seasons passed.

They met once more when they were both ten - at the yearly fundraising gala thrown by the Imperial Palace, the Grand Banquet, where they were both paired together. In a way, it was the first physical confirmation towards their engagement in the noble social circle.

Georgiana briefly recalls dancing, preening at the attention and obvious envy directed by many other Ladies of the court, while she stays there by His Highness’ arms.

She was already praised for her absolute intellect and excellent behaviour by many, but in that moment...

 _It was as if everything was set_.

She was suddenly the Crown Princess, and one day, upon marrying into the Imperial Family, she will be above them all: the eye of the party, the constant main attraction. Adoration, admiration, looks of envy - she will have it all.

For months afterwards, upon being granted the permission by Prince Damian, she has painstakingly written to him every week—if only to boast all the work and parties she has attended and engaged in. She was eager to please him, to want more validation than she’s already received. More importantly, she wants him to _notice_. 

The Crown Prince, though busy, always replied. Not quite as frequently as she would at writing him letters in the first place, though he explained it beforehand that his duties would keep his attention most of the time, and would apologise for it in every letter he’d been bothered to send.

Georgiana was persistent however, and, if she were honest, she hadn’t truly minded that their interaction was primarily one-sided. _As long as he still replied_ , she remembers thinking to herself, determined, _it was enough_.

She hasn’t written to him in _weeks_ , and it has been a whole month since her fall from the horse.

Georgiana could almost feel the large lettering thunders across her head: BIG MISTAKE.

Looking back at it now, it seems silly to have forgotten this tiny drop of routine amongst many others. Perhaps she had thought the one simple reply from Mother to the Imperial Family upon their inquisition of her wellbeing following the fall were enough, and Georgiana swiftly put the matter away.

Though then again, as Georgiana reflects calmly while the maids fuss about the change of dress and hairdo, her schedule was already so filled.

Before, she packed it thoroughly with studies, revision, answering invitations, and even sitting down to go through the household’s account. She has yet to be allowed to manage it, but she would work through what mother has looked over with their House’s butler, and she learned and corrected their mistakes from there. 

She hadn’t wanted to disappoint her fiancé so bad, as well as her family—she didn’t dare dream of dishonouring them and losing her place so easily—that she was willing to go through such an extreme extent.

How had she even managed to find time before to write to the Prince?

She must’ve sacrificed some of her sleep. In fact, wasn’t that the initial reason she fell from the horse in the first place? She had been getting less and less sleep preparing for an exam to acquire her Grade 2 in Latin, Grade 1 in Rhetoric, and Grade 3 in History. 

History, in particular, was exciting - especially when it was the only subject out of the seven academic modules that girls were allowed to receive a Grade 3 honour before their social debut. Usually most ladies stray away from obtaining any higher Grade than 2 before they debuted for it would seem unseemly and arrogant. Men, of course, were the only ones expected to lead a nation and maintain the household.

But Georgiana—she was looking forward to it.

The former High Queen has already obtained Grade 3 and Grade 4 by the time she was fifteen years old, just barely a year after her official social debut. She was _excellent_ ; what Georgiana had fought tooth-and-nails to become so that her legacy, and the Imperial Family’s, would not be tarnished.

 _No use minding it now_ , she supposes. She would still attempt all of the exams since she’s already worked hard for it, but…

“Milady,” Willow’s voice catches her attention.

Georgiana glances at the mirror by her left side—the dark purple of her dress is elegant, beautiful. She could tell that they couldn’t have much time to do anything else to her hair, so the heavy red of it flows flourishly down her back. There’s not much make-up to her, except faint colouring to her cheeks and lips, though that’s understandable. At this age, she is still unblemished; her skin clear.

She nearly wants to apologise to all of the maids who have worked hard to have her ready. Wanted to extend her sorry for all of their efforts soon would be all to nought. 

“Do you worry, Milady?” Willow takes her hand, her voice gentle. What a patient woman she has become, her Willow, Georgiana contemplates. The lady she serves certainly has a short temper. “I pray you don’t. You’re lovely. Surely His Highness would see it, too.”

Georgiana isn’t sure what to reply to that.

In the Original Timeline, the Crown Prince would eventually confess to the less-than-ideal situation in the palace to the Main Character. He will admit that her purity and honesty, so very different from the calculating gazes of the noble ladies, was what attracted him to her. There wasn’t much he’s said of his own fiance, just that he’s bound to her by the order of his family.

Till the end, Georgiana was just reduced to a simple villainess who trapped the prince in a loveless engagement. She was a political marriage candidate that he could easily dispose of. It is of no surprise that, in his gameplay, he too could also easily swing the sword and execute her.

“I’m sure he will,” is what Georgiana replies in the end. Willow giggles, perhaps reflexively, eager to witness a meeting of the Crown Prince and the lady she has helped raise.

The descent down the stairs, on the contrary to any cliched romance, seems dreadful. Georgiana is aware that she is not the Main Character. Nothing she will do could seduce this man. So, why has he still agreed to be with her? Was he _that_ loyal to the orders of his royal family?

No. If the story goes accordingly, and Georgiana behaves the way she does, soon enough this Crown Prince will cause a political stir in the Capital. Of course, it isn’t widely known, not even to most noble circles, unless you’re quite close to the Imperial Palace’s cases, nor the audience who were playing the game—not until he reveals it personally to the Main Character years later.

This is the _Prince Who Chains His Queen._

After acquitting such a feat, surely the only other way to tame the Court was to not anger it further. Perhaps their engagement has always been something the Prince needed to do to pacify the noble society he’s gathered. Georgiana feels her stomach twists in knots. She’d much preferred, suddenly, being scolded for wanting to put the pie in the oven herself.

“Peace be the one who holds the sky.” She says anyway, in the meaning of greeting.

Prince Damian smiles with the gentleness of a greying dandelion, soft and pleasing to look at. He’s handsome, there’s no denying it. Even when Georgiana tries her best to restrain herself, the heart under her body thumps at the sight. His hair has grown longer, but kept short at the back. The bangs, despite being swiped back, falls over one of his eyes. His uniform sharp, the colour a mix of dark blue, black and white embroidered with gold stitching—the royal colour of the Kingdom.

What stands out the most would be his eyes. It glints the same way a jewel would. Yellow sapphire. A hereditary trait of the Imperial Family. 

“May Light never be darkened.” The Crown Prince holds a hand over his heart, customary.

Georgiana mimics, bowing slightly.

They move to another room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i. To be honest, I argued with myself a lot about the age of Georgiana and The Prince being engaged together. I have always known that I would want them to be engaged early, but _eight_? Me @ myself: That's perhaps too early, ma'am. But then, as I was writing it, and I was counting in their interactions + political reasons + even families' point of view etc, I just maybe wanted to emphasise that—with such an early engagement, I wanted to portray how very little control both our protagonist had in this deal. Of course, Georgiana was excited - but she didn't know any better, but that's just to show how much skewed the romanticism of marriages and/or arranged marriages were in this setting. 
> 
> It's more than just an engagement, you know? It's a showcase of people like Griffin who weren't able to stop it, it's Georgiana for thinking it was a blessing, it's the irony in these two people - expecting to marry - but there's this large distant between them, and most importantly: they're just children, really, and how heavy it must've been for the both of them to carry such an adult responsibility so early, and this is really the side of the story where we see how it effects the two people in the equation and their reactions to their surroundings. Outside of this fiction, child marriages are really Not Okay, you guys. I definitely do not condone it nor do I support it.
> 
> ii. With that said, and you probably have guessed it, I do have plans for both Georgiana and Damian, definitely! Like I said, we're definitely gonna see more of how these two people who are prematurely engaged behave towards one another and their surroundings! What do you guys think of Damian so far? We're a fan of him? Against him? [Cackles maniacally]
> 
> iii. Also, to add: I did so much world-building of this fiction than it is really necessary. Like y'all — the history of the Kingdom? I did it. The educational structure? I've got it noted down. The calendar of this world? Yup. Did I even try to sketch out the map of the world just so I could determined the neighbouring Kingdoms? Yes, I did. And then I realised I barely wrote anything to track down the Religion of this Kingdom. For a moment, I was like, wait. "What was the Church call again?" I'm a mess. (Also, religions are way harder to build than I expect?) Regardless, some of the information may be loosely based on real life events or organisational structure, but trust me when I say it is all fiction, okay? It is. Nothing's real.
> 
> iv. Random Tidbit: Customary or formal greetings in Westria are "Peace be the one who holds the sky" (specifically to a Royal Family) and "Peace be the one who calls for Just" (towards each other), with the reply being, "May Light never be darkened." This, of course, went back to the first High King of Westria, Vince the Just or Vince the Conquerer—who was regarded as "holding the sky" when he managed to win Westria by defeating the Dark Magic. Other members of the Kingdom, no matter noblemen or otherwise, regarded one another as the one "who calls for Just", as in, the people who cried for Justice since, before Vince the Just came, the kingdom was ruled by a tyrant who _wielded_ the Dark Magic.
> 
> "May Light never be darkened" started as just a common wish: the citizen no longer wanted to be ruled under tyranny and such a hateful magic, so this phrase was uttered often until it became the traditional greeting. Of course, a simple greeting like "Good morning" or "Good day" is also acceptable—and are often use among commoners. But usually, if you're expected to be formal, that's the greeting you would use. This was mostly inspired by Margaret Atwood's Handmaid Tale ("Blessed be the Fruit" "May the Lord open"), but modified based on the Arabic language (اَلسَّلَامُ عَلَيْكُم = which translated into "Peace be unto you", and the usual reply would be وَعَلَيْكُمُ ٱلسَّلَامُ = "And unto you peace").
> 
> Next chapter: Damian and Georgiana interacts. See all of you on June 4th!


	7. Crown Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh! This story has been published slightly later than my usual hour, but—here we are.
> 
> I'm not sure if you guys noticed it, but I've taken the liberty to finally name the chapters! Woo-hoo! I figured I'd name them in the case that anybody may need to read or come back to the older chapters, so a name attached to that said chapter could potentially help narrow their search. Hopefully.
> 
> Thank you again for those who've dropped comments, kudos and bookmarks! I see you and I appreciate you!
> 
> In the last chapter: Georgiana reminisces over her engagement with the Prince and how it came to be.

“I must say I was quite anxious.” The Crown Prince explains over the flower he’s faintly gripping, Georgiana’s own ungloved hands, in the meantime, wrap loosely over his arm. She almost regrets not wearing them—gloves, she means. Truthfully, there isn’t a need: she’s not in a formal function, and the cold of the Winter to come is not so severe that there’s a fear of catching any Blue Skin.

The Prince’s coat is also warm, sufficient for what Georgiana hopes would be a short walk through the garden. There isn’t a need to worry at all.

Yet, seeing her primly cut fingernails like this has her felt so incredibly exposed.

The Prince, on the other hand, moves on smoothly. If he notices any stiffness from her, he does not comment.

“After I heard of your incident, I was worried it might’ve been serious. I couldn’t stand still for the whole day until the news arrived, to which they told me you’ve suffered from a heavy blow to the head and was then laid to bed.”

He sounds grieving, saddened by the retelling.

Georgiana isn’t sure what she could do. It isn’t as if she isn’t elated, or even slightly delighted, to be aware that the Prince, _her fiancé_ , was worried to the extent of visiting—but her mind has stepped too far into relatively five years from now where this man-turning-boy besides her would fall for a mere commoner girl. She feels instantly betrayed by the reminder, but immediately grows sombre afterwards while reflecting her prophesied actions.

She could, of course, avoid it all purposely by breaking the engagement right now.

Though that would raise more questions. To add, it would’ve been a direct insult to the royal family should she wishes to have it annulled without any proper nor significant reason. Rather than solely killed, Father and Mother could lose their names in the socialite and noble circuit. Their House could fall into debt, and many help, thereafter, would suffer from losing jobs. She imagines Willow, having to retire. The head butler, having to sacrifice some of their silverware. She wonders what happens to Benjamin then. Bastard or not, he must’ve gotten used to the daily meals and easy warmth the mansion gives.

Oh Gods, she has to think of _others_ now?!

“Milady.” At the age of twelve-turning-thirteen, Prince Damian’s voice has only begun to grow deep. It’s a startling thing, especially after weeks of primarily hearing the noises from the maids.

“Your highness?” Georgiana blinks—has she thought too loud? Has her expression leaked the concern she has fleeting through her head? She’s always made sure to be careful, and yet. One couldn’t be too sure.

“I wouldn’t want you to misunderstand,” Prince Damian’s own glove hand touches over her knuckles, pressing. “I was informed you have woken up a few days later—with an unfortunate swell to the back of your head, but otherwise you were well. I thought to visit then, but the letter from your Mother assured me that there wasn’t any need. In fact, I should anticipate hearing from you soon was what I was told.”

Right.

Of course that would be of the norm. Now, how could she get out of this one?

“Oh, _your highness_ ,” She sighs, touched—though no. Not quite. The Prince is still so handsome, and Georgiana has no particular doubt why she had worked herself through the bone as much as she did to garner his affection or attention.

But this is a matter of survival now. 

She’ll play the role of the doting and heartache fiancé if she must. It’ll be just like before—except, when the Main Character arrives, she’ll be ready to cut all of the necessary ties. The Game will perhaps expect her to grieve and turn hostile. She wouldn’t know just yet what she will do. Maybe allowing a few pranks to the Prince’s Dearest Commoner could secure an annulment. And then, after... 

After she could escape.

Of course, these are all thoughts too rashly. She’d been pondering it. Though now having the layouts of _how_ she could proceed with it….

—No. She must focus now. Prince Damian is staring at her.

“Were you worried? Truly?”

“Certainly.” The Prince seems surprised for one second—perhaps not expecting such a question to be turned against him, but he recovers. His expression smoothened into a lovely and honest face. “You’re my fiancé, Lady Bartlett, are you not?”

One of his palms touches her cheek.

And, well. She couldn’t blame at all why she’s fallen for this man. 

“Oh, your highness. I intend to write—” though, if she were honest, she’s just honestly forgotten, “—but there’s still so much to adjust to after the fall. Even now, the doctor still comes once a week to see me at Father’s orders. He worries too much.”

“Of course.” The Prince amends. “You are his treasured daughter.”

“I fear he wouldn’t allow me to take the exam that’s coming soon. If only I could convince him I was faring much better.”

“Indeed,” The Prince chuckles—an interesting sound. “You've even picked up cooking, I heard. Is that true?”

Georgiana’s head snaps, and her eyes widen at this new information.

Of course. In the midst of recalling back the origin of their engagement and the rush of meeting him face-to-face — never mind that it _is_ an incredibly beautiful face — she’s almost forgotten that his character comes with one of the more complicated backstory. Hence, he also bears one of the more intricate, if not dangerous, personality.

His charming and pleasant facade otherwise, the Crown Prince Damian is one of the brightest children and then later, man in the whole Kingdom. Flooded with a tragic history from heavy mistreatment by the Highest Queen, he’d also grown calculative, paranoid and not above being manipulative and deceitful to ensure the result he desires are secured.

Certainly, it didn’t start out that way.

The High Queen, having been confirmed barren and could not bear the children to His Royal High Majesty after nearly a decade of marriage, has had to confront a reality wherein Prince Damian, first of his name and heir to the throne, was a baby she did not give birth to. 

Prince Damian was the symbol of her failure, and though law has it that she could claim the child as her own, she torments not only Damian, but his biological mother, Queen Barla, throughout his early years of growing up. Queen Barla eventually died at childbirth during the delivery of her second child; a daughter, stillborn.

Though there had been no evidence that could be traced to point it was indeed the High Queen’s doing, Prince Damian had not let his resentment go. To avenge his mother and sister’s death, he was determined to shackle the High Queen’s power. 

He will succeed, eventually—at the age of thirteen years old—earning him a fearless reputation and giving birth to the horrifying tale of the Prince Who Chains His Queen.

How could she have forgotten? No. It wasn’t that she forgot—she was carried away with the mood, and she hadn’t thought that the Prince could pose any alarming threat till they’re both enrolled at the Academy.

Yet, he’s here now, mentioning her sudden interest in cooking that Georgiana’s sure has not yet left the estate of her home. After all, she hasn’t exactly been writing to anybody about her activities, neither was she chattering her routine away at any social gatherings. Why would she, anyway? It isn't a story that's worth telling, not with her compilation of failures, and she hasn't really been attending to any social gathering when Father forbade her from engaging in one so soon after her head injury.

Benjamin, too, tends to not make friends among the nobles, and whatever children of the maids their family houses either learn to follow their parents’ footsteps into joining the staff come their age or they only ever go to the church for their basic and religious studies. They’re so very little in amount anyway — perhaps five children altogether, with two in their teens, one in their pre-teen, one just turning seven and the other, an infant — and they couldn’t have possibly spread any rumours.

She’d noted her progress down from her learning the trades, that’s correct, but that was only for herself—in a private journal, locked inside the shelves of her personal chamber.

How could that information make it all the way to the Imperial Family?

Only one plausible answer: there’s a spy among the House’s staff, one who reports back to the Prince of her activity. Certainly, that in itself raises more questions, though Georgiana recognises immediately that it’s a method she wouldn’t put past his capability.

Perhaps this was how the Main Character could gather more evidence leading to the first climax wherein Georgiana was finally excluded from society. However, why would the Prince bother in the first place? Why monitor to such an extent? Had she given any indications she was prone to betray him? Or maybe…

He was looking for signs of abnormality.

Right. He _did_ mention her cooking.

Why, though? Had he doubted her as a potential wife? Had he thought she’d be dangerous?

How troublesome. Here she safely thought he would keep his manipulative side to the story regarding the royal family, but she supposes, in a way, she is under the same category. A part of her feels thrilled that she’s garnered this much attention, but another part is weighed down by the fact that she must be more careful now. If he suspects her at all, _of_ _anything_ , who knows what the Prince Who Chains His Queen would do.

“You did?” In the Original Timeline, maybe she would have blushed: this was the sort of attention she desired. While the Prince was polite and never failed to make the appropriate amount of conversation, he had never truly instigated anything—not unless he’s aiming for a certain answer. 

Right now though, Georgiana only mimics a sense of wonder. In a way, she is. Was he truly worried to the extent of mentioning it? If so, why? Who is this particular spy? Does she need to spare concern that it may hinder any future plans? It isn’t as if she’s going off-tangent, attempting anything that would raise an alarm.

Well, not now, anyway.

She’s still performing all of her duties as she’s done before, and should the next doctor’s visit prove that she is fine, she’s looking forward to hosting a tea party among the noble girls just to keep up with the social circle, to maintain her lavish appearance. It’s just that she’s adding new interests, is all. Her reasons so far are believable—she’d wanted to improve as an all-around Lady—what reason would he have to suspect her?

“Who told you?” She feigns embarrassment now, avoiding eye contact. 

“Oh, milady. I merely overheard the maids talk. Is something the matter?”

 _Overheard, huh?_ That seems plausible. Could she really trust his words? Georgiana tries to steal a glance. On his highness’ handsome face, concern tugs to his focused gaze.

“I didn’t imagine His Highness would find out.” That much, at least, she’s truthful about. “It’s true that I’ve started to learn cooking, but…”

“But…?” The Prince persuades.

Her cheeks heat up. She’s still far too young, far too easy to feel embarrassed under his heavy and uninterrupted attention, even if the infatuation from before has receded upon knowing what these gloved hands could possibly do. Gosh, will she honestly have to admit it? How embarrassing.

“I burnt most of the food.” She ends up confessing.

There’s a pause all of a sudden, until Prince Damian smiles wide, his dimples showing. Ah, what a brilliant scene indeed. She half suspects she’s blinded simply by the sight alone. “Milady. There isn’t a need to be embarrassed.”

His gloved hand runs over one of her cheeks, comforting.

What an intelligent little prince! He must’ve known his good looks were one of his strengths. Why else is he putting his hand so brazenly on her? Even when they were paired before at the Grand Banquet, Prince Damian was nothing short of perfect etiquette and manners. This! Gods, he must know it would serve to heat her cheeks up further. Why else could he be so bold?

“You’re still new, aren’t you, to cooking?” He continues. “Besides, once we marry, surely the royal cooks are more than adequate to serve the both of us, if not assist you themselves should you find yourself wanting to attempt a recipe. You’ll improve.”

What a sweet fantasy, indeed.

To be his legal wife, a member of the royal family. To share a simple warmth together. To even have the time and space to properly cook, maybe dining it for the two of them after a long and exhausting day.

If only Georgiana isn’t already looking for a way out.

This time, it was _her_ turn to catch Prince Damian’s gloved hand that’s across her cheek in her palm. She turns her face just slightly, leaning into the warmth where the black-blue fabric of that very glove which startled her a second ago is now giving comfort. Into it, the only daughter of House Bartlett smiles. “Yes, your highness. You’re right.”

Prince Damian stares, as if startled by her subtle boldness.

In her mind though, Georgiana’s already forgiving herself for the attempted meals that she’s ruined. After all, Prince Damian’s statement isn’t without its merit. Perhaps a mastery in cooking would be far-fetched, but by the time she leaves this estate, a few meals unburnt would’ve been satisfactory. There’s nothing else to do but improve. There’s still time and there are still a few more trades she could try her hands at.

Survival.

Georgiana considers the gloved palm she has abruptly nuzzled, before she brings her attention elsewhere, looping their arms back together and resuming their walk. From this distance, she could already see their tea sets are well prepared. Georgiana leads the both of them there.

 _I beg your pardon, my fiancé, but I refuse to die by that very hand_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i. So, how are we liking Damian? Do we trust this dude? Nah?
> 
> ii. There's a lot of things that are going on in this chapter — on virtual paper, and behind. First and foremost, writing Damian? One of the most difficult thing I've done so far. This goes from physically describing him ( he went from being a blonde to a black-headed to even brown-haired ), to putting him into action. Like, I've had him clearly in my mind, but writing it in details? Yikes.
> 
> iii. Apart of the reason why I was having such difficulty finally pin-pointing who Damian should be is because the stigma, I think, that comes with black-haired characters. Normally, you wouldn't find black-haired to be anymore distinct than the next person, but in the anime / webtoon / cartoon genre, I do see a pattern where black-haired characters tend to be solemn, or isolated, or mysterious. (Sasuke-kun, anyone? lol) And Damian is - _more than that._ Eventually, I did relent in making Damian black-haired, because I just ended up hypnotising myself with the image of Clark Kent aka Superman, Prince Eric, even Cinderella's Prince etc who are all black-haired, but exuded this nature where you are immediately charmed and/or positively influenced by them. That's how I imagined Damian just came across in this fiction: he's someone everybody immediately wants to adore — if you don't know him well.
> 
> iv. Regardless, I really did have fun writing Georgiana reacting to the Prince!!! I wonder how all of you are thinking about her and her view of things! Do you think she enjoys it, or do you think she's grown reluctant, or do you think she needs to be smarter at handling everything? Tell me your thoughts!
> 
> v. In the earliest paragraph, I mentioned something called "Blue Skin" — that is a medical term in this world for frostbites! In all honesty, the area where Bartlett's area are at were never in true danger for anybody contracting frostbites ( unless, of course, you aren't taking care of yourself! ) because it isn't that far north like, say, where the Northcott's territory is, or even where the Windborne Mountainsland and the Uncharted Sea are located. I know these all doesn't make sense, but also, another fact? I really did built a whole ass map for this fiction lmao.
> 
> I might share them the next time I'm updating this. We'll see.
> 
> In the next chapter: Georgiana rethinks about her position in the House and social hierarchy. A new crisis emerges involving Benjamin. We finally meet a few new characters?


	8. House Bartlett

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is by far one of my _most_ favourite chapter to write (along with the next one) in Arc 1. There's gonna be a surprise in the End Notes, so look out for that!
> 
> In the last chapter, we're formally introduced to Prince Damian. Today, we'll come back to Georgiana, introducing a few new characters — the rest of the members of House Bartlett.
> 
> I'll put out a light warning that, in this chapter, we will reveal one of Georgiana's more horrible mistreatment towards Benjamin. It is not pleasant. She was a child, and hadn't known any better at that point of age, but it still happened and it wasn't okay. If you're not alright with such content, do stop reading at "It would usually stir her to act more harshly afterwards." and continue on when, "She has no intention of purposely harming the boy any longer."
> 
> PS: also, can I just say, all of you who commented are always super frickin awesomely kind? Like! I swear I think all of you would comment with "Thank you for writing / for this update" somewhere and I legitimately cried. Like, maybe I shouldn't be this touched from a "thank you" but I am. Like, honestly. Every time I see it, I do feel extremely appreciated, and I want to formally point out _my thank you_ for just, being here, my dudes. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Griffin Bartlett is a tall and imposing man.

He’s slender, though. Or at least, that’s what he claims, compared to his late brother and his father before him. Regardless, Father is broad, and when he sits there at the head of the chair around their dining table, it is obvious to all who the Head of the House is. 

Due to tradition, Georgiana can scarcely believe that any woman could fill the same position. Certainly, there have been rare cases where women dominated in areas where men would typically fill. For example, the tale of Arsanna, the Righteous Knight who stood by late High King Mortimer’s side throughout her life, were fairly popular.

Then there was the Glorious Pia Era during High Queen Pia’s reign over Westria, which was both the most controversial and the most peaceful era the Kingdom has witnessed since its first union. Now, Georgiana could name a few notable authors and scholars who were women, and one Lady, far in the back of her mind, who held a fairly powerful influence in the East.

Yet, for the most part, she’s certain it is unheard of.

Before, Georgiana would contemplate it—taking over father—often feeling remorse and anger at her selfishness because she could not possibly attempt to take the Head position of House Bartlett while being married into the Imperial Family simultaneously. As law, Georgiana would be asked to primarily renounce all inheritance the moment she took up the royal name as her own. It’d been less strict since the earlier years of the Kingdom. Nowadays, she could still call House Bartlett as her own and acknowledge the relation between her parents and siblings, if she has any, should the marriage be officialised.

But before the rule was abolished, all High Queen or Queen Consort would abandon their family’s identity altogether for the sake of establishing their loyalty to the Imperial Crown.

Now, in this Reversed Timeline, Georgiana feels less annoyed to learn that she could not have, logically, inherited her father's position to be a Great Lady and the Head of the House. Not necessarily due to her womanhood, but more because she has already been expected to take up the title of High Queen once she comes of age and the Church deemed the right season to have Prince Damian and herself married. That was what she agreed to; there was no need now to be angry or particularly spiteful.

It wouldn’t bear any sufficient results anyway.

Perhaps, should the engagement have not been in place, Georgiana would have a chance.

She’s still unsure if Father is one of the people who would be prejudiced at the thought of his precious daughter, _a woman_ , to take up his place, but Georgiana knows herself that she has more than the adequate amount of knowledge to ascend Father’s position. Certainly, she’ll need more than one Summer to shadow and follow Father into his affairs if she’s hoped to be more than simply competent, but Georgiana is aware that she has the drive to succeed and excel.

She’s smart, capable, and she is determined.

If it’d been any other life than this, maybe Georgiana could even convince Father to reconsider her as his direct heir.

This would no longer be possible. She knows this now.

Because the question of her future as Prince Damian’s bride aside, Benjamin is also here. Father is certainly not without his wits. What others may have seen a burden, Father took Benjamin and groomed him as an heir. He sits there now, by Father’s left side, and he almost appears like a nobleman.

His table manners are adequate, and his shirts are pressed to the nines.

“What ever has caught your attention, my daughter?” Father’s tone is deep, and could almost be heard as deadly serious, except Georgiana knows her papa. There is a tone of amusement that’s settled deep at the back of his throat.

When she glances at him, Father’s silver eyes await her answer.

“I was just thinking what it was like…,” She begins, “To sit in your chair.”

Mother gasps loudly, her knife and fork clattering against the plate as she does so. Benjamin, from the corner of Georgiana’s eyes, widens. However, catching her stare, he turns quickly to his own plate, his cheeks turning a shade redder. Georgiana pays him and Mother no mind, so does Father.

Miriam Bartlett licks her lips. “Georgiana, dear.”

Father snorts then, catching Mother’s hand and squeezing it. Mother presses her mouth together, quiet, and Father continues. “I _was_ told by Harrison that you’ve been engaging in odd hobbies, as of late. My, what a curious daughter I’ve raised.”

Harrison is the Head Butler of the house. He’s been serving House Bartlett for _years_. Ever since Father was a small boy, himself. That was what she’s been told anyways.

“I was just wondering,” Georgiana shrugs, returning back to her plate—as if she’s already bored by the conversation. “I didn’t mean to scare Mother.”

“You didn’t scare me, my love.” Mother tells, one hand reaching forward to tuck Georgiana’s dark crimson hair back. “It’s just… unheard of.”

“I’m aware.” Georgiana replies steadily. “That was why I was wondering.”

Silence falls between the two parents. Georgiana continues to cut the chicken, as does Benjamin, who eats there silently, as if trying his best to disappear if being unvoiced and unheard could permit him so. What a strange bastard brother. Should she perhaps bring it up the next time they were to study together?

There is no way he could be meek his whole life.

Even when Father eats, he sits so in a way that there would be no possible cause anybody could miss his presence. He was a Great Lord, and he’d _demanded_ he was acknowledged even by the simple act of sitting.

“Well,” Father begins suddenly, catching her attention. “Why don’t you try then?”

“Griffin,” Mother hushes, and Father smiles gently at her, assuring.

“She would just sit here for a moment. I see no harm in it.”

Georgiana feels her heart thumps! This is certainly more than what she bargains for. Hesitancy, for a moment, clutches her features, until her curiosity wins over. She is a child easily challenged and provoked, a prideful one. There is absolutely no other possibility than her accepting Father’s suggestion.

So, Georgiana stands from her own chair and goes to where Father sits.

Father, ever the gentleman, helps her; sliding the chair back once she is comfortable. For a moment, all eyes landed on her — even Benjamin, even the maids and butler who were standing readily by the edge of the room. Georgiana feels the rush of having all of these attention, all of these power.

It’s as if she’s back at the ball with the Prince, ten years old, and cheeks rosy from all the gossip and time given to her. _Her_.

“How do you feel?” Father asks, his worn face smiling.

“You are able to see the whole room, Father.” Georgiana responds. It’s hard to describe the happiness and pride that’s bubbling. It’s better to point out the truth. “It’s an advantageous angle to sit from.”

At this, Father laughs while Mother smiles warmly. She reaches back to clasps Father's hand that's on her shoulder.

When their eyes meet, they share an expression filled with pride.

For a moment, it’s easy to feel as if she’s living primarily with just her two doting parents. Easy to recall all the time she has only with the two of them, lounging in the garden with Mother as they admire the coming of Spring, or being patted to sleep when she was much younger by the fireplace even when Father was supposedly busy with work.

But—

“Benjamin,” Georgiana calls suddenly, shocking everybody in her presence.

Benjamin appears pale all of a sudden, frightful. It’s different then, she suspects, when it’s just the two of them. It’s not the same as being acknowledged and called upon when their parents are near.

Georgiana heeds Benjamin no more of her attention. Instead, her head snaps to Father. “Father, may Benjamin also sit here? Only for a second, of course.”

“F-Father—” Benjamin’s voice tumbles, already shakily protesting.

“Benjie,” Father acknowledges, the nickname so foreign that Georgiana feels taken aback having been recalled of its existence all over again, brows knitting together in obvious confusion. “Georgie. What is happening? What are you planning, my daughter?”

“Nothing. I’d just like him to sit here too.”

“Father, I—” Benjamin shakes his head, and he seems so small.

“Come on. It’s just _sitting_.” Georgiana admonishes, not quite able to help herself from snapping. From her right, Mother sharply calls for her. Georgiana pushes forward, anyways. “I promise I won’t make fun of you if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Georgie,” Father’s voice turns slightly harsher.

This is the truth that the Game hasn’t widely acknowledged. The audience playing it would not know, but Benjamin, for all of the neglect and mistreatment from his only half-sibling, was actually quite favoured by Father. Mother, too, had never explicitly treated Benjamin cruelly. She doesn’t necessarily fully acknowledge Benjamin and would almost often keep her distance so they would not interact more than they have to, but there’d been times where Mother would reprimand Georgiana for her actions when she'd belittled her bastard brother.

It would usually stir her to act more harshly afterwards. The first time she’d been honestly grounded and confined strictly to her room, studies, and living area, were because she’d been so upset that she was scolded to the point that she lashed out and poured a cup of hot tea onto Benjamin’s suit in her tantrum.

They were nine then, she thinks.

Father was furious, but even she could admit that it was terrifying when Mother, in a rush to peel all of Benjamin’s clothes off and crying to have the bath ready, revealed the red skin Benjamin carried from what she’d done. 

He was just blankly standing there, _shocked_ , to properly react, but Mother had dutifully carried him out and the maids reported later that the doctors who came by have fortunately told that the burns weren’t severe.

Remembering it now, Georgiana is still so heavily regretful. She was small, though; and she didn’t think that seriously, _didn’t_ _know_. She just thought it was convenient that the tea cup was there, and Benjamin was in her line of sight.

She has no intention of purposely harming the boy any longer.

Of course, she still holds no proper favour over him. She just figures it might be better to not be so hateful. She wonders what else could she do to convince Father and Mother of that? To convince Benjamin.

“What! I promise I’m not making fun of him!” She finally replies, her own sharp eyebrows tugging together in protest. She doesn’t like it that she’s being doubted.

Father sighs. “Georgie—”

“Father,” Benjamin’s voice interrupts. They all turn to him. Benjamin’s face is one that’s filled with fright when he glances at Father, but it changes, slightly, into the stubborn defiance that he always has whenever he complaints about a theory or calculations he deem were too difficult for him to understand no matter how many times Georgiana would explain herself. Frankly, she despises the expression. Though in the moment, Georgiana wouldn’t have liked anything better. 

“Fine. I’ll sit.” The stubborn boy declares.

Georgiana nods right back, standing back on her two feet and waiting.

Benjamin is still so hesitant, but neither Father or Mother seems like they were inclined to stop any of their children. She wonders, momentarily, how that must’ve looked to them. Benjamin and Georgiana have never gotten along, but surely this sort of argument or confrontation is bizarre.

Benjamin sits, primly—uncertain and unsure—until he looks up to the wide table before him.

There’s something to his look now that appears more unguarded. Perhaps he’s as shocked as she had been at the change of view. It’s simply a chair. Yet, it had a heavy power attached to it. Georgiana nearly smirks.

Though she herself had been taken aback just moments before, there’s a certain pride into knowing that she got to experience it all first. Benjamin, as always, was one step behind.

Still, in spite of her bubbling arrogance, Georgiana steps forward until she’s standing there next to his sitting form. Mother’s mouth is open, in warning perhaps, fearful of what her one daughter could cause, but Georgiana is quick to deliver what she means to say.

“It’s powerful, isn’t it?” She declares.

Benjamin blinks at her, silver eyes wide, clearly surprised.

Mother gasps, and Father watches over them, narrowing his eyes.

“You’ll be sitting there someday. You’ll be leading this House once I leave and Father retires.” She continues on, determined. Perhaps the pressure would turn to be overwhelming for merely a bastard son of a nobleman, but Georgiana couldn’t spare any time to be delicate. About over a month ago, she’d just found out that she could be growing up to have herself killed. It’s quite a dangerous world out there. Anything could happen. “You’ve no reason to be meek or doubt yourself. You’re Father’s son, aren’t you? Act like it.”

“Georgiana.” Father lets out—his voice part scolding, part shocked. From the look he's giving her, Georgiana suspects he must've not anticipated that at all.

The young Bartlett heiress huffs. Dissatisfied. “I’m sick and tired of him acting so dull!”

“Georgiana Madelline Rose!” Father bellows.

“Am I _wrong_?” Georgiana declares, and she’s quite sure Mother had turned an extra shade of pale. That, at least, has her hesitating a little. Mother has always been a tiny poor with her health. She wouldn’t want to be the cause of Mother’s stress.

“Still—” Father curses under his breath. Georgiana watches. Were they keeping it under wraps of the fact that Benjamin would inherit the Great Lord title? Surely anybody with a proper capacity to think would understand immediately why they’ve bothered to school and take the boy in. Why else would Benjamin be there?

Oh. Benjamin is also quite pale.

“Benjie, son. Are you alright?” Father kneels now, in front of Benjamin. Sometimes Georgiana wonders if Griffin Bartlett has ever felt guilty for siring his bastard son and then essentially not having minded his existence until years after he fully turned into a boy. It would make sense why sometimes Father would be so … _fatherly_.

Though Georgiana has a feeling now — which feels strangely like anger and spite — that that was just how Father works.

Guilty or not, whenever he was around, he had attempted to tend well to Benjamin the best of his ability. He was the one who gifted Benjamin his horse, who arranged his horseback lessons before any of the other necessary studies. Father was just absent a lot, and oftentimes, Benjamin responded awkwardly to his scarce affection.

When Father would dismiss him after, perhaps it was easier for him to believe that he was completely unloved and unwanted, on top of being absolutely despised by the arrogant half-sister.

Sending him merrily into the Main Character’s arms. _Yippee_.

“Yes,” Benjamin replies finally, his eyes shiny with unshed tears. “Is it true?”

Father gives his son a sad looking smile. Georgiana feels a tad blue now. How was she supposed to know that Benjamin’s inheritance was meant to be a secret! “We can speak about it later, if you’d like. Once your sister apologises.”

“Father!” Georgiana responds.

“Georgiana,” Griffin Bartlett sighs, exhausted.

“I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You—”

“Father,” Benjamin begins, swallowing. “Georgiana’s right. It’s— it’s okay.”

“Benjamin?” Father intones.

“If it’s true… then, she’s right. She didn’t do anything wrong. She was just… telling me of my duty, really. I’m- I’m your son. And yet...”

“We’ll talk about this more,” Father squeezes Benjamin’s knees. Georgiana huffs once more, until Father turns to her, serious. “Young lady. You’ll be sent to your room, and I’d like you to think about what you said. Do I make myself clear?”

No matter how much whining given, Georgiana finds herself splayed across her bed, defeated, thinking of tomorrow’s breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i. Fun fact: from the start, I've always wanted a character named "Benjie" as a nickname. Benjamin, for a second there, was Benedict, then he was actually just Benjie as a true name instead of a nickname at all, but in the end, I accidentally typed Benjamin into the Google Doc and it's stuck. Lol. And Georgiana is "Georgie" because... I'm ngl, I've always wanted to write a female character with a male-ish inspired name i.e. Roberta, Michaela etc.
> 
> ii. So, there's a lot of things that are going on here. We finally catch a slight glimpse of the Kingdom's history, and the status of women in the Kingdom as a whole, and how they're generally treated in the nation. We're also introduced to Griffin and Miriam Bartlett! Honestly, though I did built the both of them to appear at one point of the story, I never really expected them to show up this early—and for me to write them _that_ extensively. I really ended up adoring them, but, you know, I'm a House Bartlett trash.
> 
> iii. In the last chapter, [@Wr3n](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wr3n/pseuds/Wr3n) (I hope it's alright I mentioned your username, if not feel free to tell me no and I'll take it off!) pointed out that they were not really keeping track of the characters' appearances, which, of course! Is not wrong. So, I spent some time sketching out the full list of the top six main characters who will be featured in this story (though this was when they are all around 17 - 18 years of age). Of course, if you're that kind of reader who prefers to just rely on your imagination, feel free to not click it at all, okay—but yeah, here's the surprise:
> 
> [This is the link that will take you to the characters I've sketched and coloured](https://66.media.tumblr.com/4fa463998aaee5d3690d6a5919a1c32e/37b7e81c62891a9a-fb/s1280x1920/775ddc2b28f9ecc88248a14e7688600eb86397d9.png)!
> 
> Ah! But I have to warn you, I am not at all a professional artist! I've never really released any artwork that could be sold. So, please do proceed at your own caution! And, ah, tell me what you think!
> 
> iv. With that said, I really have kind of sketched a lot of these characters, and the world-building that came with it. I'm not sure if you guys would like to see more? If you do, just hit me up with what sort of media you prefer to see it in: maybe instagram or tumblr, and I could maybe look into publishing some of the extra information and/or drawing there. But if you're just fine with writing in and of itself, we could totally keep it on AO3!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and see you next chapter!
> 
> Next: Griffin confronts Georgiana; Benjamin asks to talk. Will their already-fragile bond strengthen or break apart?


	9. Heir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually did invent a whole new ass language for this fiction, huh?
> 
> In any case, here is our latest chapter!
> 
> In the last one, We met the rest of the Bartletts and Benjamin was shocked with a truth.

The next day, Georgiana is asked to go to Father’s study.

“Have you repent, my daughter?”

“Not quite. I haven’t done anything wrong, after all.”

Georgiana hops into a chair. Usually, being summoned meant either she'd receive good or bad news. In this case, with that greeting, Georgiana’s sure Father means to sentence her to some form of punishment. Not that the punishment had ever been severe.

Georgiana knows, in that sense, she is lucky. There are still tales, though delivered in gossip, about children who were still being spanked, hit, or sent far away for misbehaviour. Father, thankfully, isn’t like that. He is a serious parent, lenient when he could be, but he loves his one and only daughter. This, Georgiana is sure of.

Even in the Game, a thing that still stings her head every time she remembers, Father’s animation would be one of heavy sorrow and guilt. Ultimately, in the Original Timeline, Georgiana’s fate is set. No matter how much Father pleads or expresses his apology, Georgiana’s sentence means one thing: death.

Recalling it now, she shivers. 

Father sighs, and wraps a blanket over her shoulders—perhaps mistaken the horror of her reminiscing with coldness. She nearly wants to protest that she isn't cold, not when the fire is crackling bright near them, but decides to keep it to herself. It’s nice to be pampered. Surely this much is allowed.

“Sometimes you remind me of my brother.”

“Uncle Gallard?”

“Yes,” Father hums, smiling a little. Father never talks much of his family. Georgiana isn’t quite sure why. She just knew that Grandmother, Father’s mother, was alive when she was an infant, but passed away the winter that followed. Her lungs were weak. That was all. “He would do and say anything he pleases. He was certain, no matter what would happen, he could get away with it.”

Georgiana takes this in, tries to imagine the sight of someone resembling father. The only few painted portraits of Uncle Gallard was when he was still a baby, a boy—approximately in his early teens, and he’d been a tall, broad-chested person with freckled cheeks—and then a small painted face of someone who smiles, the picture could be held at the size of a palm. In this tiny third one, the painter barely could include his shoulders, but Bartletts were typically claimed to be large and burly, so it didn’t come as a shock to Georgiana.

Still, she has a hard time picturing that—the large man.

Someone even taller than Father? Even  _ bigger? _

“He was an excellent man. So sure of himself. I was always envious of his confidence. Every man liked him, every woman fawned over him.”

Georgiana still isn’t sure how this relates back to her, but she waits.

“But in his mounting confidence, he would almost forget that in every action he executes, there would be consequences.” For a moment, Father looks saddened by this fact. What was it, she wonders, that Uncle Gallard has done so recklessly to warrant such a response even after his death? Oh, perhaps it was the act of him rushing to his death, itself that has Father reacting in such a way.

Georgiana hadn’t known much about Uncle Gallard, just that he was the firstborn and true heir of their House, but he was killed during the war. Grandfather followed within the year out of grief, and Grandmother oversaw the House until she, too, fell, a few Winters afterwards.

“Do you know our House’s words?”

Of course she does. “Visnos nura nio pernos vis talaqh har,” Georgiana recites—more of an automated response, than it is of her being able to truly understand the foreign language.

_ There is no honour in senseless fighting _ , is the rough translation.

Father nods, slow, then smiles—still a little too sadly for her liking, but gentle. A fatherly concern that Georgiana is familiar with.

“I wouldn’t want you to make the same mistake, Georgie.” Father expresses then, something in his deep voice sounding so anguished that Georgiana feels immediately at an unease.

Because of that, Georgiana moves in closer. Like this, Griffin Bartlett could wrap his arms around his only daughter, as if she’s never grown from the four year old who would fuss and cry her way into her father’s arms to fall asleep nearly every night, his mounting works be damned. She could even remember a time when she’d fallen asleep over Father documenting and sending away a late message to a third party in the room.

His voice had been one born out of an authoritative tone, but in his arms, he cradled his daughter close and he spoilt her of warmth.

“But I wasn’t mistaken,” She tries anyway, her stubbornness worn in the mess of confusion.

Why was Father so sad suddenly? Had he known, too, of her fate?  _ Impossible _ . Georgiana is attempting her best to not lead her life straight into that trap. She has nearly all of it figured out: she’ll have her engagement annulled, and then she’ll make her escape. What’s the use of staying? How could she guarantee she won’t be tempted by the Dark Spirit or the plot of the Game if it favours the Main Character so greatly?

No, Father couldn’t have known. If he had, he would’ve done something far more drastic.

“No. You weren’t. You were very brilliant, to have figured out my intention with Benjie.” Father smiles a little, the corner of his eyes wrinkling with the effort. “How long have you known?”

Georgiana shrugs. “I suppose I’ve figured it out the moment we’re in agreement with the Imperial Palace. You insisted that Benjamin’s academic studies are to be taken more seriously then.”

Father laughs again, and Georgiana couldn’t help smiling along.

“Incredible.” Father breathes, musing over her hair—the only one, Georgiana suspects, who are allowed to do so besides from the maid who would tidy and brush over them in the morning and evenings. Georgiana merely giggles, cheeks plumping up to beam happily at her father. She likes being praised. She likes being praised very much. “You’ve known for years now.”

“I have.” Georgiana feels herself pouting, offended that Father would suggest otherwise. “I don’t understand why everybody else hasn't.”

“Exactly,” Father points. “Not everybody is as incredibly brilliant as you, my darling daughter. Benjie, for instance—that was not the news he should have heard during dinnertime, yes?”

Georgiana trails her eyes sideways then. Perhaps she could fairly grasp what Father intends by mentioning Uncle Gallard.  _ Consequences. Senseless fight _ . Should she have felt saddened that Benjamin has finally caught up to the honest truth after so long? Shouldn’t the boy be elated instead? Be celebrated to have a place in a mansion, in a high social circle, so easily?

“Georgie, there is time and place for everything. You must understand this.”

Georgiana deflates, pouting some more. “Yes, father.”

“I know…” Father sighs again, concerned. “I know it hasn’t been the easiest—accepting Benjie into our home. He must feel like an outsider; a foreigner who copies our hair and eyes.”

Georgiana is quiet now, twiddling only with her fingers.

Perhaps Father isn’t as blind to the situation in his own House as Georgiana had thought. Then why, in the Original Timeline, had Benjie been isolated as he had? Perhaps it was only the fault of the game. Just like this long trail of history that’s become part of her identity the moment she was born, everything was easily simplified to meet the Main Character’s point of view and understanding.

And—it’s been known that Georgiana had generally stopped harassing Benjamin around the time she was thirteen going on to fourteen years old. For the most part, she left him completely on his own, and, upon entering the Academy, they feigned further ignorance and pretended they’ve no blood relation entirely.

It wasn’t until Benjamin’s persistent involvement with the Main Character that Georgiana re-focused her resentment once more upon her bastard brother.

Perhaps, in the Original Timeline, Georgiana had even been acceptant of his placement in their House. No.  _ Accepting _ would be too nice of a word to be attached to her. Georgiana had grown indifferent.

Yes, just as she thought. The story has always been a bit more complicated than it was on the surface. In the Original Timeline, Benjamin would often lament on his history—the few he was willing to give—of how bad he’d been neglected, how cruel he’d been treated. Though maybe the truth was always far more intricate. Certainly, it doesn’t erase that Georgiana had been horrible to him, but was it Benjamin himself that was so stuck in his misery that that was all he’d become to the Main Character?

In the end, Georgiana remains as the cruel and obvious villainess. And Benjamin, along with the Main Character, were victims.

Wait. Now that she’s thought of it—wasn’t it true that nearly all of the capture targets were victims in one way or another? Oh,  _ dear Gods in heaven _ , was this perhaps a game born out of a mere girl’s fixation with loving victims? What was it that she possesses,  _ a twisted hero complex? _

Georgiana’s head swims.

Does this mean it matters not if she were to be friendly to her bastard brother at present? Who’s to say that he somehow would still see her treatment, no matter how well-behaved she may act, as something cruel and malicious? She certainly wouldn’t put it past him, with how thick-headed he could be, how long it seems that he could stew in his anger.

Like fine wine, excerpt worse—because preserved grapes that were reintroduced as wine does not guarantee her death.

Not that she was hoping for any _brotherly_ _affections_ either, thank you very much. She was fine with only building this semblance of what-could-be-described as camaraderie. She just figures that there’d been no point giving him anymore of the horrible treatments she had. He’d be the Head of the House anyway, whether she marries the Crown Prince or otherwise. Might as well help him grow his way into Father’s heir while she’s here.

And… well, maybe it isn’t so bad having someone her age,  _ a sibling _ , bastard he may be, to talk to. Maybe.

“It hasn’t,” Georgiana admits finally—her voice sure, her tone flippant. As if she’s merely admitting the weather and it’s temperature. Windy, with coldness. Blue sky and a yellow sun with warmth. “It’s quite alright now, though.”

“And why is that?” Father prompts.

“I feel more secure,” Georgiana replies readily, eyes sharp. “He’s admittedly slow in his studies, but he has the potential to be your heir, Father. I don’t think you’re making the wrong decision here. I’m merely supporting you.”

Father looks at her for a long time, as if weighing heavily upon her explanation. For a moment, Georgiana wonders if she’s done anything wrong, or said anything that she shouldn’t have. She doesn’t think she has changed that much in terms of personality after the fall. 

As far as she’s concerned, her past life was her past life.

Currently, she was and still is Georgiana Bartlett—with just an effectively horrendous memory that’s given her a new goal to work at in life.

In fact, rather than says she’s changed, isn’t she just louder and far more demanding in her opinions? She hopes the maids would soon give up on staring at her oddly. Though she supposes she should be grateful they’ve only kept at  _ staring _ , rather than having them fully interrupting her or the like—their worries whenever she was in the kitchen not withstanding.

“I fear you might be too wise for your age, my daughter.” Father finally exclaims, one hand reaching out to muse her hair again. Georgiana lets him.

_ I fear I’m not wise enough _ . She doesn’t admit, still imagining Benjamin’s gloved hands wrapped around the sword and slaying her. The more she thought of the scenario, the more she could imagine herself in that very place—as if she’s never witnessed it from a screen in that past of hers, but in fact was present during the ordeal.

Georgiana raises a hand and presses it against her stomach, wanting to confirm that it is intact. When Father leans down to kiss her temple in assurance, she allows him.

* * *

After Father’s little query about her new hobbies, they spent the next with her re-telling of the pie that was left unsalted. Georgiana had blushed from embarrassment, proceeded to pretend she  _ wasn’t _ blushing from embarrassment while Father had seemed disappointed to not have the chance to witness it and try it for himself. About an hour later, she was finally dismissed.

Georgiana has shut the door and was aiming to walk straight to her bedroom when she realises a figure is looming close.

“You.” Her voice acknowledges.

Benjamin steps out of the shadow, as if he was being summoned, his expression solemn.

She doesn’t even bother contemplating the reasons why he appears to be more gloom than before. Any other person, she’s sure, would be thrilled to know they have inherited such a name and fortune. Yet, her bastard brother stands there as if he’d been whipped for hours and were now seeking his revenge.

_ Not yet _ , something rather sarcastic voices in her head.  _ Wait for your sword, brother _ .

“Do you intend to scare the passing maids!” Georgiana snaps, just because.

Benjamin, to his credit, barely blinks. Suppose the news of the night has washed him off from reacting to the usual snide. “You knew.”

“Of course I’d known.” She sniffs. “I told you I was intelligent.”

“I—” Benjamin starts, but halts. Whatever he was trying to say dies quickly and, in an instant, he becomes unrecognisable. The resolve and cold indifference he had always maintained leaked into a look of fear. Georgiana feels irritated.

_ Oh dear Gods of the Heavenly Lights, please don’t cry! _

If he did, then surely it would seem as if she’s been bullying him still.

She’s abandoned the hobby! She wishes not to cause him this sort of pain any longer! She swears!

“Come on, then.” She insists in the end, trailing the other way. The only place she’s found true solace besides the patio and gazebo in grandmother’s garden. The library. “We could talk more over here.”

When they arrive, they’re doubled in number as two maids scurry to attend to them. Georgiana gives a quick command to bring them both their warm milk while the other hurries to provide candles for the young Bartletts. After a while, Georgiana settles on one of the tables they often used to study. Benjamin sits across, quiet, his head down.

“Milady.” One of the maids, Harriet, fusses.

“It’s quite alright. We’re only reviewing for a little bit. Benjamin and I have been arguing about this topic for  _ forever _ . I must solve this now, you understand.” Georgiana gives out. From the corner of her eyes, she could see Benjamin slowly raises his head, possibly recognising the lie for what it is. 

After all, there’d been no topic they'd argued that lasted more than an hour - especially in regards to their studying. Benjamin usually quits about ten minutes into the discussion, and Georgiana would be prideful enough to take it as his loss. 

Thankfully, he remains quiet.

“You’re very diligent, little madam, but if Willow finds out or the Great Lord—”

“Then don’t tell them!” Georgiana clasps Harriet’s hands, squeezes it. “Oh, please Harriet. It would be just for a while. Ten minutes, I promise. We’ll finish our milk and you could come get us, alright?”

Harriet looks just as glum, but eventually smiles a small one. “Ten minutes. No more, little madam.”

“Right.” Georgiana nods her head. “Make sure nobody comes in in the meantime. We could count on you, couldn’t we?”

“Of course, Milady!” Both Harriet and Leslie, the other maid, chorus.

Truth be told, she’s quite wary of her own potential to lie and pretend as smoothly as she had. Before, the only time she’s attempted such things were when she wanted to frame Benjamin with something. She’s a cunning little girl; was this why she was punished to have her body slain by various men in several different timelines?

Georgiana shivers, but Benjamin says nothing of this reaction, perhaps blaming it on the cold.

“You have questions then, I gather.”

Benjamin looks up again, his silver eyes lost its glassy features now, and Georgiana has to stop herself from physically sighing in relief. Being somewhat civil was one thing, but to outrightly _comfort_ _another_ was—

Benjamin nods, slow, cutting her train of thoughts. “How long have you known?”

Georgiana ponders over this for a while, “I believe I’ve suspected it not too long after you arrive. I’ve had my theory solidified, however, after my engagement with the Royal Prince. You remember, don’t you?”

He nods at this, slowly.

“Yes, I was more horrible towards you afterwards. My engagement with the Prince meant Father was definitely hoping to raise you as his successor. Needless to say, I was jealous, on top of being horrified that father could’ve bore a child with another woman other than Mother.”

Benjamin raises his head and frowns hard. The flickering of the light from the candle sharpens his features, and he almost looks like Father. She wonders what was it that made him tick specifically, though; what caused such a frown. That she admitted she was envious, or that she mentioned his dead mother.

“If you’re expecting an apology, I do not have one for you.”  _ I am not sorry, _ the words were loud and clear.

Benjamin’s face twists some more. Then, out of nowhere, he scoffs. “I wouldn’t hope so.”

_ Good _ , she thinks, though she rolls her eyes, only because she’s trying her best to keep her fists right on the table and not collide it anywhere near his face.

Then, after a while, Benjamin asks again. “So, was this why?” He pauses. She watches him, her own brows, she could feel, furrowing. “You helped me with my studies. Was this why?”

Her eyes flicker downwards for a few seconds. The more honest answer was that she’d been acting purely out of impulse. It had just been a relatively few days since she was allowed to walk around again after her fall, and she had had to handle the reality of which she had oversaw her doomed future on her own. Sure, Mother was there during the time she was recovering, and Willow scarcely left her side.

But what could she have done? Spouted the things she saw and have a doctor classify her as contracting a form of madness? Father would have her sent out probably, to hospitals or asylums. She would be known then, as the Bartlett Girl Who Went Insane.

No, Georgiana had woken up, half-way into her twelfth year of living, with memories of her possible demise, and she had to keep it all to herself.

The one and first connection she has to that exact demise was him.

Accessing it now, maybe a part of her had wanted to alternate the future, after all; had wanted to save herself by perhaps winning her half-brother’s favour. She knows now, weeks into reacquainting with the boy, that it wasn’t as easy. There was still so much anger in her, so much energy she hasn’t fully confronted knowing he was around in the same mansion she’s living in. Mother has always disapproved of Georgiana being mean to Benjamin, yet she would look so sad.  _ So sad _ , at any mention or presence of him.

What she says instead, however, “Do you know that the Imperial Family may or may not have planted a spy among our staff?”

Benjamin’s eyes widen at this, clearly unexpecting of such a response.

Georgiana would’ve snorted if she hadn’t felt the heavy gloom looming on her shoulders. Now that she’s said it aloud, the reality seems so dreary. It’s more terrifying having had to share her suspicion with another person, someone she doesn’t even fully trust. Not when she’s been so comfortable thinking on her own.  _ Yet _ ...

“My attempt at cooking. I told not a soul of it. Mother stayed in her room most of the time to ever entertain my new interest, and I’m sure Father has only been informed of it by Harrison when he arrived. Yet, the other day, when the Prince came to visit, he mentioned it to me without me ever hinting at it. I doubt you’d be the one to leak the stories, as well. You’re not close to the other boys in our social circle, and, even if you do, I doubt you’d think of me so interestingly to distribute the news.”

Benjamin listens now, serious. 

At this, Georgiana smiles a little. No matter who it is, it’s still nice being heard; being taken seriously. Or perhaps it’s the thought that, in her attempt at sharing something, it has yet to be rejected. This seems alright, even.

“Of course, he easily passed it as having heard from passing maids, but I have my doubts.”

“What reasons does His Highness have to spy you?” Benjamin inquires now. It’s not a bad question. Georgiana, herself, has thought about it countlessly. Every time she lands on the most likely conclusion, she’d twist the problem again and again, hoping to see it from a new angle.

She huffs. Crossing her arms across her chest. “I know not. I have my suspicions, but I’ll share them once I’ll acquire better information.”

Benjamin, once again, wears an expression of shock.

Georgiana however, reacts not to it, too busy being engrossed back in her thoughts. She thinks of Prince Damian’s gentle smile and dashing black hair. How harmless he had looked, how peaceful. Among the capture targets however, he was always the quickest and most heartless to strike her down. Even Benjamin, with all of his resentment, had ranked third out of the four male leads in terms of those who were affected—number one being the least affected, and the last, being the most.

“Still, it intrigues you, no? It alarms you.” Georgiana hushes, now fiddling with the glass of milk splays. “Perhaps the Prince’s attention is simply to observe, but it grips you in ways you didn’t think it could.  _ The world is out to get you _ , is what I think. And, brother, you’re so defenceless.”

“Defenceless?”

“Yes. You don’t take your studies seriously! I was made aware your physique is one of the finest by our trainers, yet you must be aware that there is more than one way for people to fight. What happens then, if somebody outwits you? If you’re too deep into your lonesome self, too stubborn holding onto your sad past, that you don’t see your enemies slandering and tricking you?!”

Benjamin’s nose flares. He stands suddenly. “Sad past? Who was it, then, that spent years tormenting me! Now you expect me to believe you’re _helping_ _me_?”

“Of course!” Georgiana stands, too; the chair screeching as it slides back. “What happens then if you fail the House? What will happen to Mother? Who will be there to care for her?”

Whatever rage that’s consumed Benjamin’s being somehow deflates at the mention of Mother. Georgiana tries not to notice, but it’s curious. As far as she’s concerned, Mother and Benjamin were never really particularly close; even in the Original Timeline, Benjamin was insistent he had felt alone and primarily executed in the household. He shouldn’t have reacted so easily unless any mention of maternal figure could unwind him quickly.

“...of course I’ll care for her.”

“You won’t if you lose Father’s title.” Georgiana snaps then, her tone turning even and serious. “She’s… poor in health. You know this. She would need all the assistance she has, all the medicines. They’re not cheap, Benjamin. I don’t wish to lose her.”

Benjamin, who has only been standing there with a look of growing helplessness, changes to look profoundly curious. For a moment, Georgiana wonders if it’s what she said. What, certainly it wouldn’t be out of character to admit that she does not wish to lose any of her parents? Regardless, like most of their argument, Benjamin grows weary. 

He lets out one huff of breath, as if losing all the effort he’s gathered when he starts this discussion. “So, what,” he begins, slowly. “If I’ll study, it’ll help?”

Georgiana considers this.

“Maybe not. I don’t ask you to be a prodigy, brother. But, at the very least, I don’t want any men in the future to think you’re idiotic and easy to fool.” She admits. “You’ll carry our name. You should carry it with pride—and, of course, you ought to carry it smartly.”

Benjamin seems to take this better. Finally, he nods, approaching the table and resting his palms there: open and long, calmly across the table. His eyes stay on the surface where his glass of milk rests.

_ On a second thought… _

“What if we make an exchange?” Georgiana suddenly speaks up.

Benjamin frowns. “Exchange?”

“I’ll help you study,” She explains, “You’ll help me learn how to wield a sword. Properly.”

“A sword?” Benjamin blanches, more than surprised.

“I want to learn how to fight.”

“ _ Why? _ ”

_ So, I might have a chance out there, stupid. Why else? _ She grins instead. “Think about it. You’ll have a chance at beating me at something for once—that is,if you’re fortunate enough to strike me right. It isn’t a bad deal. I’m a Bartlett, too. We’re descendent of warriors. Surely, I could keep up.”

Benjamin snorts at that. And yet, by the end of it, she could almost detect a hint of a grin.

He outstretches a hand. “No. That doesn’t sound bad, at all.”

She clasps his hand right back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i. Yay! So, if you made it here, thank you so much! We've finally jumped over the hurdle of the first arc of this fiction and I'm really, really excited to just move past this phase where we mostly handled a lot of character introduction, establishment, backgrounds!!
> 
> ii. This means that in the next arc: we're gonna see more conflicts, more new characters!!! More of the Kingdom, even! And more of Georgiana navigating and working her way into making sure her plans to survive are bulletproof. Don't worry about it, Benjamin is still around for the ride. Will he kick Georgiana's ass during their swordsmanship lessons? You'll have to see.
> 
> iii. Unfortunately, the next update _won't be_ published in the next week cause I'm gonna take a break between this first arc and second arc to kind of catch up on writing ahead. I'm planning to publish back on Mondays - but we'll see. I might get impatient and, you know, prematurely post on any day I find I like anyways.
> 
> iv. Tell me what you wanna see more of, though!!! The Prince? Maybe Micah? Or Edward? Or (gasps) the Main Character? If I could find myself answering it, I will! The same goes if you have any questions — like, you're unsure how to interpret anything at all from what happened, or you want clarification on the Kingdom's backgrounds etc (to maybe help you figure out what's gonna happen in the future 👀), go ahead! I will try my best to answer them as openly as I could.
> 
> Thank you again for reading and see you all soon after the short break!


	10. End of the Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And weee are back for the second arc of this story! Thank you so much for everyone who's joined in, and for those who are only just reading this now: thank you for being here!
> 
> So, for personal reasons, I couldn't really get around to answering people as I thought I could. Long story short: I was busy finishing my degree, I was trying to be active once more on Tumblr while simultaneously giving myself some space to get into new hobbies. Buuut I'm here now, and I'll try to address all the things you guys mentioned in this small little tiny author's note - but if you aren't here for it, go ahead to the start of the story.
> 
> Some of what I could briefly answer back are:
> 
> 1\. Damian _is _shady, lol.__
> 
> 2\. The ranking from 1-4, with number one being the least affectionate and/or sympathy towards Georgiana by the Final Boss round could shock you. I might reveal it later, but as is, I think I've already written down that Damian is placed as first—so he's the least effected by Georgiana dying—and Benjamin is the third.
> 
> 3\. I will definitely be touching more on the family, especially the mother! I certainly have plans for them, although I do warn right now that they are not the "main" driving plot, so it's not entirely _focused_ , but we're touching it later, yeah.
> 
> 4\. Georgiana and Benjamin are not gonna go anywhere, I can promise you that. You're gonna see very soon what I meant XD
> 
> 5\. The way I've written Griffin is - quite complicated. Not as complicated as Damian, per se, but for a "background" character, he's certainly complex in his own way. The whole Bartletts are, honestly. However, in this case, do keep in mind that, aside from being a father, Griffin is the Head of a Great House in Westria. So, there's a lot going on with him. He's always caught trying to be a politician but also, this parental figure. I feel like sometimes it confuses him.
> 
> Griffin certainly babies Georgiana, is what I could at least confirm - hence, rather than not trusting her, I feel like it's more because he's trying to be careful in raising her despite her maturing so rapidly and quickly. Thus, treating her a little like a baby; like she's fragile, when she's not.
> 
> I'm not sure if this would ease your mind about it, but I hope you're going to be around to judge him (and the whole House) by yourself! I'm really excited for everyone's reactions and your thoughts on it!
> 
> Previously: Benjamin found out that he was kept to be an heir to the House. Damian was introduced. Benjamin and Georgiana struck a deal.

Winter comes.

Father has refused to allow her to partake in the exams, so Georgiana found herself sulking over it for a week. Benjamin pretends he isn’t affected by her mood and promptly stays away as soon as all of their lessons are over. She supposes, all things considering, that was quite a wise move. Her moonblood arrived in the middle of the week, and the cramps her pelvis were experiencing certainly hadn’t encouraged her to behave any better had he tried.

Knowing her full authority, Georgiana has even taken the advantage to explicitly express her disappointment over Father’s refusal to her fiancé via the letter she’s decided to pick up again.

It’s quite therapeutic, if she's honest — maybe that was why she had kept at it. More than a letter, it was as if she was writing a diary.

Regardless, as all rainy weather would, the bad week passed. Georgiana finally confronted Benjamin for their training, and he’d convinced their Head Knight to allow her to be in the training ground. Ser Ederick had nearly fainted at the sight of her and scolded Benjamin while he was at it. It was quite an amusing sight, but pitiful, as Benjamin had only hung his head.

“With all due respect, Ser Ederick. I do not understand how it could be Benjamin’s faults.” She voiced half way through him raising his voice, Benjamin possibly turning blue at every minute passing. “When I was the one who insisted on the training.”

After what she believed were worth one hour of back-and-forth ensuing—even a little tears coming from Sir Ederick—she and Benjamin won the one-sided argument, and she’s allowed to stay.

“There are many types of swords.” Benjamin began, when he finally pulled her aside as soon as she was in gear. Ser Ederick had went away with the note he’s taken over potentially adjusting some more appropriate breeches and armours for the Little Lady, all the while murmuring and hoping the Great Lord wouldn’t murder him before. “I think you’d be more fitted with the long and thin one. Rapier or a tuck.”

She had frowned at that, her bad temper snapping like a lightning to a tree: once, but accurate. “What, you think I’d trip and fall and hurt myself with the big bad sword the knights use?”

Benjamin’s frown deepens somehow—confused. But, more than that, potentially irritated at the tone she’s using. “No. I think you’d have better luck with a smaller weapon since you could be much quicker. Have you heard of Lady Victorie Res of House Bartlett? She was our great great great aunt.”

Georgiana sniffed. “What of her?”

“She was likened to her brothers. She was built largely, and was often mistaken as a man. Rumour has it that she was even bestowed a sword. It was a gift from Essai, a suitor there who fancied her.” Benjamin seemed enamored with the story, telling it in a way that Georgiana’s never really heard him speak before; focused, but with an adequate amount of adoration. Fitting, she supposed, for the boy who will fall for the girl who would had made it possible for the Blessed Sword to be of use again. “The thing is, Essai-origin swords are large, and heavy. Yet, Lady Victorie Res were able to wield it well. One of her brothers, in return, injured himself while attempting to do the same.”

“What does this have to do with—”

“And you know the tale of Knight Arsanna, I imagine?” Benjamin cut her off.

She felt one of her eyes twitched, unused to being interrupted. Least of all, from a _bastard_. A part of her was stubborn: it demanded retribution, and it wanted so by force, careless of any consequences it may caused. Georgiana swung her arms across her chest until she’s got both her palms under her arms—away from any danger of striking this bastard brother of hers for having dared being rude. She puffed up her cheeks, and willed herself to calm. 

_Benjamin_ , she reasoned with herself, _wouldn’t have interrupted her without a reason_.

“She wielded a thinner sword than the rest of the knights’—the reason was simple: Knight Arsanna found an unwanted sword. Funnily, the sword was thrown in the first placed due to the wrong measurement. Yet, that was the very sword that has had her recognised as Westria’s strongest in her time. Of course, she was a master of several other weapons eventually, but there was nothing like how she used that sword, as the stories went. It was what shaped her legacy.”

Georgiana narrowed her eyes. “If you have a point, I suggest you get there quicker, brother.”

“ _My point_ ,” He stressed, and he wore an expression there that she suspected was one born from him wanting to roll his eyes, but managed to restrain himself. “—is that the size of swords don’t determine the swordsman's worth or ability. I’m merely suggesting either of the thinner ones because I figure, since you are not aiming for knighthood, you might as well take full advantage of being able to choose your own sword later.”

That had taken her slightly aback.

Perhaps her one daft brother wasn’t much of a brainless boy she’s suspected him to be. If their trainors’ little praises were anything to go buy, they had certainly gotten it right. Benjamin was bright and passionate in anything that could involve his body, horse-riding and swordsmanship included.

“ _Fine_. I’ll think about it later.” She managed, tilting her chin upwards. “I suspect I wouldn’t right away start with a sword. What have you got for me today.”

“Good observation.” Benjamin had nodded then, rolling back the scroll containing a drawing of swords back into its rightful container. He handed it to a passing help. “We would need to build your stamina and strength. I suggest you begin by running fifteen laps across the yard, Milady.”

 _"What?_ ”

And that was the story of how her training began.

She still isn’t quite sure how she hasn’t yet rammed her fist right against her half-brother’s face half the time she was on the training yard with him, though she suspected it was only due to the extreme exhaustion she would feel every time she was done with a set of training.

Nobody could really cause much harm, she suspects, if one is not without energy.

Despite the absolute thrill of imagining her tempting Moonshine, Benjamin’s favourite horse, into dropping Benjamin off her back, she does admit that the sores she spots do indeed serve as a good reminder that she, well, _she’s_ _doing_ _something_.

With her fate sealing and the seasons changing, she could not afford to stay stagnant.

And, as much as she refuses to admit it, training _has_ kept her attention from brooding over the exams she couldn’t have taken. When the news of the exam period passed, thus ending any new examinee from participating, she’d taken it with a dull acceptance. Harrison had seemed dumbfounded by her reaction, but nevertheless heed her request when she asked for a bath wherein she heard could soothe aching muscles.

What she hasn’t fully anticipated was another royal letter gracing her porch with the intention of Prince Damian announcing his visit within the week.

 _What have you got planned, you handsome man?_ She glowers at the letter, tucked between her palms. And here she thought she was faring quite well with her already falling back to old routine. Had she not went back to writing him the weekly letters. Surely there’d be no other reason to suspect her further?

Then again, this the _Prince_ she’s considering.

The same person who must’ve done a meticulous job to gather enough evidence to frame the High Queen into silence. Georgiana scowls some more. So not only is she working herself half to death to gain his favour as a fiance, now she must consider thinking ahead at all times to avoid getting politically insecure and bodily threatened?

Benjamin seems concerned at the news of the Prince visiting.

“Are you not worried?” He asks one day while they’re hunched over another book in Philosophy. Georgiana practises the language of Old Gaya, smooth handwritings going over to describe a particular excerpt from a book she’s just read.

“Worried?” She asks, not quite catching up to the conversation. After all, she’s been expecting him to stay silent and fume over Philosophy for at least one hour—the time she’s allowed him to write a full three-page essay.

“His… you know. _Highness_.” Benjamin whispers.

 _Oh_ , Georgiana thinks off-handedly. She presses the tip of a pen against a cloth, eyes narrowing to the side to see if there is any staff tending to them. She witnesses three, one butler in waiting, while two other maids clean one part of the library. In all honesty, Benjamin needn’t whisper as the three of them are quite a distance away.

Though then again, she hasn’t checked to see if any part of the library could echo. So, she supposes the discretion could be appreciated.

“Why?” Georgiana barks back, glancing down to her paper to see if she’s written it well. “Are you?”

Benjamin shrugs. “Didn’t you say the—the pr— _the person_ —had a spy?”

“Well, yes. I’m still not wrong about that.” Georgiana reassures, taking her pen back and dipping in the ink. “But what could a spy do with no stories to tell? I haven’t broken any laws, so have you, as far as I’m concerned. There’s no reason to arrest. Unless you have something you need to tell me, brother.”

It means as a joke, really. Or - as much of a joke Georgiana is able to tell.

Still, Benjamin grows into an ugly shade of puce, horrified at the prospect that he may be of a lawbreaker more than his hereditary title already brands him to be. “I—of course— _no, I haven't broken any law_.”

“Then will you _relax_?” Georgiana insists. “Spies are pawns, brother. It means, as much as any person could use them, it could be used back against the person who sent them. You mustn’t see everything as if you’ve already lost the battle.”

Benjamin is quiet at this, hand stilling on the pen she’s no doubt has long dried of ink.

“Are we, then?” He asks after, “In a battle?”

Georgiana stares. _No_ , she’d like to say. _Not you_. Just herself, against time. Just herself, against a young lady who will miraculously snatch the attention of men and the nation alike. What is so less to her, she wonders, that she would lose in the future? What has she been left without that the Main Character inherits?

No. She’s said it herself. One mustn’t see everything as if they’ve already lost the fight. If they did, surely, a lost is absolute.

“We’re not. We’re just being wary.” She answers in the end, smiling a little. “It’s a difficult world out there, brother. There’s so many things that compels us to distrust. I’m sure it’s the same with the Prince—only harsher. He has to take into account that anyone would be a threat to the crown or wants him dead. Frankly, I’m surprised there aren’t more maids being sent by the Imperial Palace to monitor this family.”

And then, like cold water being drenched to her head, Georgiana has an epiphany.

Across the table, Benjamin is nodding slow, oblivious of her latest revelation. “I haven’t thought of it that way.”

Hadn’t the Imperial Palace sent in some maids and butlers to the Bartlett Household after their first public outing together as a way to commemorate? Right. If Georgiana could gather the list of the newly hired maids from there, maybe she could narrow it down further. Certainly, she doesn’t think the spy is particularly harmful; but it’s still good to know who is observing her.

She might’ve gotten work to investigate the matter further, if not for Willow already flocking over to prepare for His Highness’ arrival.

On the day itself, she’s fitted with grey-coloured dress that could almost look green under the lights. There is embroidery of pale pink roses down the pattern, and the maids tatter over to ensure all ribbons are in place. This time, with an advanced warning, they have had time to gather her hair and braid them much more properly. It still falls and tickles over her shoulders, but Georgiana finds that she likes that. Having her neck exposed is somewhat embarrassing.

“Peace be the one who calls for Just,” Prince Damian greets, catching her off-guard.

It is custom, usually, to greet the members of the Imperial Family first. Never the other way around. Georgiana couldn’t help but to be fully aware yet charmed all at once. Had this cheeky Prince wanted to have a chance to sound like a courting gentleman? Because that would’ve been the way had they been ordinary civilians. It would’ve been the men to greet the women, would’ve been the men to cruise over and try as hard as he could to get the maiden’s attention.

 _It could not be_ , something in Georgiana quickly reacts even if the dimpled smile Damian is giving is quite healing to the soul.

 _He had never wanted this_ , she has to remind herself. He had never wanted this marriage. Maybe he was just doing so to keep up an appearance? Or maybe he had been playful, in hopes that she would swoon.

She has to learn his motive soon without raising suspicion. Once she knows what is needed of her to pacify the Prince, she could be let off the hook; then, her planning could go on smoothly.

On the outside, Georgiana smiles. “May light never be darkened.”

Damian takes her hand in his, and Georgiana follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i. Trivia: As per law and custom, no one is allowed to address any member of the royal family without their title - which was why Benjamin has a hard time trying to bring up the Prince, because he's been taught to address him as "His Highness" or "The Royal Prince" or any version thereof.
> 
> ii. Trivia #2: Essai is pronounced Aes-sah-ee. The closest pronunciation I could think of to modern terms would be "Acai".
> 
> iii. It may not look like it, but Georgiana has actually triggered a butterfly effect here. She has been, actually, for a while now - and it's meant to happen so subtly and unknowingly that even she, herself, hadn't realised it's been happening. I wonder if you guys can detect the few things that has actually changed! I never explicitly written any comparison, but if you have any guess that you might wanna toss out about what you think has went differently from the Original Timeline vs. this Revised Timeline, it would be so cool to hear it!
> 
> iv. Thank you so much once again for those who've dropped in for a read, and clicking on those kudos as well as leaving comments! I see you and appreciate you!!!
> 
> Next chapter: Damian and Georgiana talk. We learn a few new things. See all of you soon!


	11. Contrary State of Living

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning!**  
>  In this chapter, I will feature a detail that depicted Georgiana was abused as a young child. It is not entirely too extreme, but if you wanted to skip that particular description, feel free to stop reading after Damian mentioned Madame Boutroux and go straight to when he complemented Georgiana with "You have always amazed me."
> 
> I hope you guys are keeping yourself safe, and please remember: educators have no right abusing you, no matter if you've failed them or didn't meet their expectation or any reasons whatsoever!
> 
> In the last chapter: Georgiana begins her sword training with Benjamin. They contemplate the Prince's scheme, just as he comes for a visit.

This time, she’s better prepared.

The gloves that she wears are splendidly new, soft in the pale colour of pink with the ends of it trimmed in lace. In all honesty, she still doesn’t need to wear one. The plan had been that they remain indoors, inside the room where the tea and biscuits have been prepared. There’s even a considerably long table that she asks the staff to prepare, just so there’d be distance while the two of them speak, though she hides the reason so by seeing that she’d only wanted the best pastries to be showcased.

Perhaps she should consider a possibility where the Prince would’ve rejected being subjected into a room after all, because that very room is exactly where they aren’t heading towards.

Instead, Damian waits while the maid swiftly tangles her coat together. The act, thankfully, isn’t as tedious and long as the affair of being dressed in the first place, so she’s quick to rejoin her fiancé’s side. There’s a question heavy to her tongue eager to ask why he even bothers coming at all—but the sharp coldness of winter distracts her into a state of shivering.

Georgiana gasps, blows out hot air, and rubs her hands together.

“Oh,” The Prince seems to notice her reaction, “Are you alright?”

The high of his cheeks are cherry-red, she realises. The winter has also washed away the natural skin tone he has, turning him almost as pale as marble, which later only serves to highlight the stark contrast of his black hair and eyelashes he sports. Again, Georgiana feels as if air has been stolen straight from her lungs. How could he be so beautiful-looking?

Was the Main Character this enticing, too?

Surely she’s held a certain degree of attractiveness to not only warrant a few mens’ attention, but the _Prince of all Westria_ as well as the three other young men who would grow to have a more-or-less large influence on Westria's noble circle. Georgiana would rap her knuckles against her head a few times if she could, if only answers could come easily that way, yet she knows nothing tangible would be produced.

In fact, out of all the capture targets Georgiana has listed down, the Main Character seems to be the most elusive one out of all.

What was her motivation? What was she really like, beyond the direction of the choices of answers she was given? Why was she allowed into the Academy in the first place? The girl had to be special, had to have stood out in one way or another.

Yet she could barely recall anything of the Main Characters’ true features that she could honestly describe.

Was Georgiana missing something?

Even now, this private audience with the Prince, she feels as if she’s walking into a dark room where the stairs would stop. She just wouldn’t know when. One moment, the earth is steady under her, and the next, it wouldn’t be. It crowds her chest like nothing else, and the familiar throb at the crown of her head pulsates without her permission. The only thing that's certain is that her fate as the unluckiest young woman alive has somehow been sealed a long time ago.

Or perhaps she has merely grown paranoid. A few months have passed since she’s started remembering and already her body trembles at even the slightest reminder of what would happen the moment she would collide with the Main Character.

The Main Character may be what the Game has designed as the Chosen One, the saviour to end what would’ve been a repetition of a Dark Time—but isn’t she merely the full symbol of Georgiana’s direct demise?

 _Or maybe that’s you, yourself,_ something in her snaps and there’s a lump forming large and consistent in her throat. It’s hard to swallow around it. For a moment, Georgiana feels as if it’s more than just the winter air catching her off guard. _Georgiana The Arrogant, so quick to put the blame on others! Have you seen yourself! Have you seen the damage you’ve caused!_

_Georgiana The Arrogant, the rich prideful girl nobody loves._

“Milady?” The Prince’s inquiring call is short, a simple thing, but it snaps her from her trance. When Georgiana’s eyes fall upon him, and his well-fitted clothes, she feels her chest under her move. The cold air loses its sharpness at her inhales and exhales.

“Ah,” she manages somehow, looping her arms right at the crook of his elbow. “The cold surprised me.”

“We needn't walk through the gardens if the weather unsuits you, Milady.” Prince Damian is courteous, the edges of his eyes following in a shape that shows genuine concern. Though all Georgiana feels in the moment is as if a noose is already tightening around her neck.

The last time he’d been here, she’d been sure that she would not die by his hand.

Though speaking of one’s intention and executing them is certainly a dauntingly different task. It’s similar to this option laid down for her in this moment: she could choose to turn her steps now and sit in a warm room where a hot tea will be prepared by the hands of her expert maids. She could live in this comfort, revel in it, and live until she’s exhausted her time here.

Or she walks here now, in the cold, with the Prince who shares a chance with three other men at executing her when she is older, gambling at her life.

As though laughing at fate, Georgiana adjusts her coat and squeezes the space where her hand is splayed against Prince Damian’s elbow. She wonders if he sees it as her reassuring him, or as a sign of nervousness. “It doesn’t unsuit me, Your Highness. As I’ve said, I’m merely surprised—or do you find me daring to be so dishonest with a member of a Royal Family?”

It helps to talk; it helps that she could still find her tongue cheeky even if, by all reasons, it would not have been the smartest thing to say. She hopes the Prince will merely only find her action as teasing rather than for what it was: a play of status, an acknowledgement to the imbalance of power between them.

It’s dangerous—but it gets the heart under her ribs to pump. The sound of it loud in her ears.

She wonders how he will react.

Smoothly, she finds, when Prince Damian merely smiles, his dimples deepened from the action. He barely gives her a glance. “I merely worry, Milady. More than a member of the Imperial Palace, I am your fiancé, am I not? Or do you believe I shouldn’t have asked?”

“No,” she takes a moment to sound like she’s ashamed. And, in a way, she is. She hasn’t expected the Prince to bring up their engagement so easily. The word ‘ _your fiancé_ ’ triggering a string of dreadful thoughts and butterflies alike. A contrary state of living, that’s what she is like, when she is around him. Georgiana suddenly feels silly for being so easily affected; sillier, when she should’ve known the Prince to have possibly heard worse jabs at his titles and, therefore, were always more equipped and ready at firing back retorts than any other person alive.

She must not forget her place here.

Out of the two of them, only _he_ would be the one to socially and politically climb high enough to politically cut the power of someone as mighty as the High Queen.

“I tease.” Georgiana adds, taking in the cold air in. At least the sight of Grandmother’s garden is familiar and welcoming. She could still survive. She still has a favourable fighting chance. “Was your journey here well?”

For the few minutes next, they exchanged small pleasantries.

Like this, it is almost too easy to be swept along with Prince Damian’s light and seemingly harmless pace. And, though she feels guilty, Georgiana allows herself to be relaxed by the tone and the topics they discussed: weather, families, even events around Westria now that the Winter holidays—Wint’s Fest—are fast approaching.

It is custom to gather together on the last day of Winter to pray for a safe nightfall. Once the long night passes, and the sun rises the next day, everybody celebrates again: all to commemorate that they have all lasted another year where Westria is not under the threat of a Dark Spirit, or the tyrannical Kaiser who wielded such corrupting magic years ago. Thinking about it now, it almost seems too fantastical. 

Certainly, they were required to learn it in History, and there are marks everywhere in Westria where legends of Vince The Just and his Holy Entourage have defeated the tyrannical Stephen Who Sins. Even standing here now, Prince Damian and herself, they were living proof of these legendary figures’ existence; with Damian being the direct descendent of Vince The Just, and Georgiana, hailing from House Bartlett of the Holy Entourage.

Yet, all the same, it becomes nothing more than just a horrifying and glorious tale.

Like stories you tell to children to fool them to sleep. Georgiana certainly has heard her fair share of it, though she much prefers, as a young girl, to hear how Wallace the King’s Champion was whisked away by a maiden he saw in the crowd. It was the romance of the century: Wallace, the noble—Wallace, who was the King’s most trusted; the King’s closest companion—the rich of the rich, falling in love with the one girl who, despite his wealthy and generous influence, grew to become someone who was beyond his reach.

A simple tailor’s apprentice who was not convinced of any title nor money.

Georgiana wonders when was the last time she demanded such a tale from her parents as a bedtime story? It must’ve been a long time ago, because she was still unused to sleeping in a large bed alone without any of her parents to tuck her till she falls asleep.

“You smile.” The Prince makes a note. “What has amused you, Milady?”

“Oh, I—” Georgiana shakes her head. “A forgotten memory, is all. I remember asking my parents often to tell me a bedtime story. I wonder now, if they’ve gotten sick repeating the same thing night after night.”

“Ah,” Prince Damian laughs a little. The sound echoing similarly to a chime. “I find it hard to imagine Great Lord Bartlett finding you anything but tiring, Milady. The Great Lady, as well. They adore you.”

“You praise, Your Highness.” She replies good-naturedly. “Perhaps it is easy to do so, seeing that I am their only daughter.”

“That, you are.” The Prince agrees. “You’ve never spoken of your childhood, Milady. Of course, that is, if I may inquire more of.”

“Certainly, Your Highness.” It’s natural. Anything the Imperial Family asks, you give. That had been the conditioning Georgiana was taught with; had believed was true. Years from now, the same mouth would announce the annulment of this sham engagement. She will have no reason but to obey, even at the expanse of breaking her own heart. “Though I do believe there isn’t anything interesting to speak of regarding my childhood. I receive the same education as any Lady of my age would.”

“You have had Madame Boutroux as a teacher, yes?”

“Yes.” Georgiana frowns a little. That mean old lady. Yes, she remembers her very well. A thin woman with a penchant of beating the back of her legs with her cane should Georgiana have gotten anything wrong. For four years since the age of six, Georgiana has suffered under her tutelage. “She was my Language and Etiquette teacher. If it wasn’t for her, my Old Gaia and Kore would not be as fluent as it is now. I may not have been able to bow as well as I did—could you imagine, your Highness?”

She asks, a small smile playing at her lips.

“No,” The Prince smiles back, eyes crinkling. “You have always amazed me. Ever since we were young.”

Heat blossoms across her cheeks. _How easy_ , she can’t help admonishing herself. _Just one compliment and he renders me speechless_. Like a little girl. Like the same one who would demand a childish love story every time she goes to bed. “You praise.”

“I speak the truth.” Prince Damian insists. “My teacher, Sir Peter Atkinson, was very fond of you. _The most polite girl you will ever meet_ , he once told me. _Intelligent, too_.”

“You praise.” She repeats, though her head swims—trying to recognise a name with the appropriate face.

“No, Milady.” The black-headed royal shakes his head. When he speaks, clouds form before his mouth. “He met you when you were only six, I believe. He said, aside from me, you were the first child below ten years old to have been able to recite _Jupit’s Philosophy_ in its original Old Gaia completely. You were also able to converse Classic Westinia and you rarely were ever confused between the Dead Language of Mira and Miren, though many adults, argue my teacher, would.”

“Ah. Sir Atkinson must’ve been an acquaintance of Madame Boutroux.”

“Do you remember him?” The Prince blinks.

“I could recall a man. Though Madame Boutroux always brought several colleagues. I used to discuss and engage with them in many different languages or texts in order for Madame Boutroux to determine whether I’ve studied and understood the material she gave me.”

“You admit I speak the truth, then?”

“The truth, yes, I studied what I must. I don’t trust Madame Boutroux to share your opinion, however, Your Highness. I fear she may believe I would still be lacking.”

“Then, she would be insane.” The Prince appears serious, voice hushed; completed. The kind you would hear that prompts you to be aware of the fact that this boy would not hear any more argument.

For a moment, Georgiana’s stuck speechless.

And then, suddenly, as if she’s shaken full with a hearty meal faced with a thrilling jokester, her mouth opens and Georgiana laughs. Nothing absurdly loud. Social courtesy dictates that she must cover herself when she finds herself like this, yet there is nothing to hide the shake of her shoulders and the bow of her head. To think that not an hour ago, she has wrung her head dry to figure out this boy’s plan.

What does he ask of her? What does he truly want, to visit her that he would leave the comfort of his palace and routine?

“You think I jest, Milady!” She hears the Prince’s attempt at interjecting; he sounds serious, but there’s that hint of laughter which trickles in between his words. When Georgiana peeks, she could see his dimples dig deep into his cheeks. “Trust me, please. Madame Boutroux would certainly be a woman lack of thoughts if she would find you incompetent.”

“Your tongue must tire,” Georgiana dares herself to roll her eyes. “For praising me too much.”

“I think my tongue has never been more exhilarated.” He watches her, a small smile gracing his lips. “Or do you think I dare lie, Lady Georgiana?”

“I think, between the two of us, you have spoken four complete languages by the time you were six, and you were able to write the dead language without one grammatical error before I could ever dream of thinking it’s existed.”

Prince Damian, for the first time, remains quiet.

Georgiana takes the opportunity to resume their walk. From the corner of her eyes, she could see the Prince’s sworn guard staying near. The staff of House Bartlett trailing dutifully behind. 

“ _Whan that aprill with his shoures soote, the droghte of march hath perced to the roote, and bathed every veyne in swich licour, of which vertu engendred is the flour..._ ” The Prince suddenly recites.

Georgiana jumps in, the meaning and text so clear in her head, it’s as if they were speaking with the scroll right across them. “ _Whan zephirus eek with his sweete breeth, inspired hath in every holt and heeth, tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne, hath in the ram his halve cours yronne_...”

The Prince smiles, “ _And smale foweles maken melodye, that slepen al the nyght with open ye—so priketh hem nature in hir corages_.”

“As I thought,” Georgiana hears herself swoons. “You’re _amazing_.”

Damian stares.

For a moment, whatever smile he presents fails to reach his eyes. Perhaps it’s the trick of the afternoon, or the cold wind breezing into her eyes, but Georgiana is sure that, whatever the Prince is splaying, his eyes—those serious, gem-like things—were demonstrating the opposite. The Prince appears forlorn, melancholy even.

He appears disgusted, face bearing no enjoyment from the compliment.

It disappears, though. The Prince shakes his head, and his feet carry to the tile floor where they would reach one of the corridors. “Here, I thought I’d visit to cheer you after the exams you spoke of which you were not allowed to partake in, but it seems I was the one who was cheered by instead.”

“Oh…” Georgiana’s heart thunders. From the expression she wasn’t sure she sees, or from the sudden revelation? She isn’t sure. Yet, she could feel it. Heavy and quick under her throat. “Did you, really?”

The Prince smiles—soft, gentle.

Something in her head overlaps with the image of an older Damian, black hair and furrowed eyebrows. His mouth thinned; his face, devoid of any positive emotion. In his hand, the Blessed Sword is stained with blood. _Hers_.

“Your Highness…”

“Come,” Prince Damian beckons, gloved hand outstretching so earnestly. “I’m afraid I’ve to leave soon. I’d like to spend what little time I have with you. Of course, that is, if Milady would have me.”

When Georgiana smiles this time, the act is strained; a forced politeness.

She accepts his gesture. “I wouldn’t ask for anybody else.”

What an unfamiliar feeling: to feel so at ease, yet so out of her depth at the same time. As she thought—it is a contrary state of living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i. This chapter was one of the more difficult chapters to write, definitely. You cannot _believe_ the amount of re-write it has. However, as is now, since I am relatively a month ahead, so this was most likely written a month before, and I had the chance to re-read it to spot any mistakes, I am quite glad that I worked myself to rewrite it as many times as I wanted to because the result here is quite satisfactory for me, as a writer. I hope you guys enjoyed it, too!
> 
> ii. I have only sort of invented just one (1) language in this whole fiction, and whatever Georgiana and Prince Damian conversed, is not it. The text are actually a Middle English text, taken from Canterbury Tales - Prologue. Which you can find [right over here.](http://www.public.asu.edu/~gelderen/hel/cant-pro.html)
> 
> iii. I've finally figured out the full arcs that I might have for this fiction! Before, it was more like a rough idea? But now, at least, I've come up with a structure that I'm quite fond of. By right, it should be:
> 
> \- The Establishing Arc (it focuses the first few months post Georgiana remembering her past life)  
> \- The Westria Arc (focuses years until the Academy)  
> \- The Academy Arc (years in the Academy)  
> \- The Post Academy Arc
> 
> There might be a fifth arc???? But I'm still unsure about that.
> 
> iv. Trivia: For this chapter in particular, Disney's Brave Soundtrack really helped getting the mood in. "Into the Open Air" especially gave me a lot of feelings—because there's that yearning that I believe Georgiana has, either for Damian or for a connection (you decide!!!), but there's this forlorn realisation too because there's this distant, you know? There's this persistent reminder that either she fails either way or she's just not good enough or Damian's just - somebody she wasn't destined to befriend or be with romantically no matter how hard she tries. If you've never heard of it, go check it out! It's a really nice song ^_^
> 
> v. Thank you again for those who have checked my stories out! I'm so sorry I couldn't find the time to properly respond yet. I'm not in a very good place mentally lately, but I'm definitely trying to work it out! Thank you again - those kudos, comments, bookmarks, I'm seeing them all. I love them. I appreciate them.
> 
> Next chapter: Georgiana continues to sharpen her skills. She tries to handle a harsh realisation. And maybe it's time to deal with the spy? [Eyes emoji] See you guys next chapter!


	12. Slow Progress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter, we talk more with Damian and see a side to how their relationship progresses.
> 
> In this chapter, we return back to see how Georgiana is faring — coping with all the skills and information she has about her fate.

Optimism would have her attempt to win the favour of any or all the men who were the capture target.

That would be ideal: if she could somehow convince Benjamin to stay by her side, or the Prince to love her back. Maybe she and Edward Northcott, the single heir to House Northcott, would come to an understanding eventually—if she tries hard enough to communicate with him. The last capture target, Micah Hartford, is the most sociable among the four men, as well; the easiest to converse, if she remembers correctly.

That’s right, she recounts carefully.

Different than Prince Damian, Micah Hartford would be devoid of any political or royal expectation. He’s the last son out of five siblings to the Recognised Duke and his wife, the Duchess. Unlike the other capture targets, there isn’t as heavy of a reason for him to be so guarded.

Yes.

Georgiana could recall: the boyish look and the pleasant grin. His hair was dirty-blonde, a rusted colour. Shadowed by the rest of his siblings, though born as the last and therefore were most pampered as a child, he had lived his life relatively easily, the youngest Hartford. In the Original Timeline, Micah was exceedingly friendly in a way that it was even refreshing. Ironically, he was also the most difficult route to succeed because Micah had mostly insisted on seeing the Main Character as a younger sister that he never had, or a close friend.

Out of all the capture targets as well, Micah was the only one who held a favourable opinion towards her. Georgiana. He had seen her efforts, noted down Georgiana’s accomplishments, and praised her during one of his first meets with the Main Character when he was asked—that was how the Main Character had known of Georgiana Bartlett at all.

Micah was suspicious, too.

Hard to be convinced that the Main Character’s harassment was ordered personally by Georgiana Bartlett, the Prince’s dedicated fiance who has done nothing but gain considerable favour again and again throughout the years they’ve all grown together in the noble circle. Up, until, of course, he witnessed the bullying for himself. The shamelessness Georgiana Bartlett casted, the pride that she wore, the hateful glance that she gave away.

Georgiana winces, thinking back on it now.

_ That must’ve been a rude awakening, Micah Hartford _ . She breathes into the towel that she’s draped over her shoulder, frowning hard.  _ I wish I could apologise, though it seems that it isn’t within my nature to do so _ .

Such the life of a Villainess.

“What has gotten you to frown so hard?”

Georgiana breaks her attention and glances over her bastard brother. Though one would categorise it as a sad fact, Georgiana finds relief when she could remember how Benjamin, in the Original Timeline, had barely blinked at her rude and abrasive behaviour. He’d expected it, knew how to avoid it, even cheekily went against it on several occasions to defy her in the name of protecting the Main Character.

_ Perhaps he is not without his brains, this bastard brother of mine, if he would think he could intellectually best me so _ .

No. Rather than besting anybody, Benjamin had arguably grown used to the terrible treatment. Along the way, he’d came up with a system that worked for him whether that be avoiding her wrath, or outwitting her by playing at her pride. That was another point of interest on how he’d bonded with the Main Character: he’d saved her from Georgiana’s ire without fail and, in return, she’d empathised with his horrible mistreatment.

Standing here, now, catching her breath, Georgiana carefully accesses whatever memories to her past life that she’s got. There are a few things here that she’d noticed. Firstly, she could remember general events, even mediocre ones, though especially the death flags—the very instances where her decision or wrongdoing would ultimately lead to her demise.

The second is that, while these memories come to her in bits and pieces, it will never be anything specific. Just as she remembers that the Main Character and Benjamin would bond over her being the ever cruel villainess, she could never really remember what was it that was specifically being said between the two of them—she could never judge the true chemistry among the bonds the Main Character will acquire, just that this common girl will acquire them, and Georgiana will ultimately suffer from her arrogance and pride.

_ What was it that was said? _ She thinks sardonically.  _ The higher you are, the greater the fall? _

Georgiana shivers.

Telling herself that she’ll ponder over it later—as she always does before she distracts herself with whatever task she’s thrown herself in—Georgiana turns to her bastard brother, who she could see now is talking with another knight. Ever since she joined in on training, she knew Benjamin were more occupied with ensuring that she hadn’t hurt herself rather than to spar with the men in their barracks.

A part of her felt pleased that she’s easily categorised as higher priority, but another part of her had felt that the fact she’s prioritised at all should be expected by everybody—so of course her bastard brother wouldn’t have time to play around with a bunch of people he’ll eventually beat anyway.

She walks over to him.

“I have not once slowed to stop during my fifteen laps.” She tells, pride trickling into her tone without mercy. Benjamin and the other knight stops talking, turning to her. The knight hadn’t seemed offended that he’s cut off. In fact, he looks at her with a sense of curiosity and amusement now that she’s closer. They all do, these bannermans of her father.

Like Ser Ederick, they find her efforts surreal; as if she’s only indulging in this as a quick hobby before she’s moved on to something else.  _ Fools _ , Georgiana thinks. As if she’s the kind of girl to waste her time on something that wouldn’t have benefited her in the long run.

“I noticed.”

“I’ve grown stronger.”

“You could catch your breath.” Benjamin replies. “That’s different than stronger.”

Her temper flares. “What else must I do till I could hold a sword?!”

“You’re eager,” Benjamin recounts with an even tone, unsurprised by the sudden snap or burst of voice. It’s so different than moons ago, when he would flinch or train his body to sit still for fear that she’ll do worse than laying insults. She expects it is because they’re in the training field—a place where Benjamin mostly spends his time besides the stable; where Benjamin probably feels the strongest, even among training knights and experienced fighters—that he barely blinks an eye every time her tone rises. “It took me almost a year until I was allowed to handle a sword. And, even then, it was one made out of wood.”

“ _ A wood?! _ ” Georgiana blanches. 

Her mind reels. Has she gotten it wrong? No, she mustn’t have. Besides from the memory of her past life—or rather, the prophecy of a terrible future—she has had her true memories to rely on. She was sure that Benjamin was the most athletic out of all the capture targets. He was the strongest, physically; his skill easily rivalling a knight’s.

During dinners past, Father often mentions his accomplishment, usually as a chance to strike up a new topic of conversation or to perhaps win both his daughter and wife’s affection upon Lord Griffin’s bastard, but, nevertheless, it was a well-known fact under the Bartlett's roof.

Georgiana, in the meantime, has only focused on horseback riding as her element of athleticism. Sure, Father considered teaching her to hold a sword once—a long time ago—until the news of her engagement came and the lessons were never brought up again.

Now, he’s telling her that he has had to wait a year till he could hold a sword?!

And even then,  _ it wasn’t a real one? _

She’s to be sick, she’s sure.

Certainly, why else could she explain the thundering of her heart? The rush of blood she could hear like drums in her ears? Though the cold today is quite challenging, Georgiana’s certain the temperature of her body has dropped into a dangerously low point. Had she gotten it wrong? Was it perhaps Edward Northcott who ought to have trained her?

“Yes. A wood.” Benjamin explains mechanically, as if he hadn’t just witnessed to her nearly fainting at the absurdity of his explanation. “I couldn’t possibly hold a sword so quickly when I am still unused to swinging it without hurting myself.”

Certainly, somewhere in the back of her mind, she’d known this to be a possibility. That she had requested to learn so late, and there are bound to be many things she needed catching up with.  _ And yet _ . Yet—she could feel panic rising up within her. In the distance, Georgiana hears this quick succession of noise. It’s taken her a few seconds to realise that it’s her teeth, clattering together, as if she’s freezing when only a few minutes ago, she was warm right down to her toes from her expected run.

“Milady?” Benjamin’s voice is tentative.

“St-stop! Stop c-calling me that!”  _ Damn _ .  _ Damn it all! _ Georgiana presses her arms together, close to her chest, and she could feel—rather than see—the quick crowd forming around her. All the knights, the squires. Some have their hands on their swords, as if perplexed and inexperienced to the sound of panic without expecting a physical danger to fend off.

“Go! G-Go away! I’m fine!”

“No. You’re not.” Benjamin’s voice is serious. “Stay back, please.” He says next, but not to her; to the crowd that’s forming. They all reluctantly heed his words and in a moment of clarity, Georgiana wonders how far Benjamin’s orders are followed.

Was it only moments like these that they’ve obeyed a Black? Or had they seen Griffin Bartlett’s attempts at welcoming the boy and had recognised Benjamin as who he is, the possible heir to the Great House Name?

“Little Lady,” one of the squires—a young man, freckled, with brown eyes—breathes aloud, worried. “Should we call for one of the maids?”

“No!” Georgiana yells.

“No,” Benjamin shakes his head. He turns to her. “What should I call you?”

“Wh-what?” Georgiana frowns, backing away.

“You said not to call you  _ Milady _ .” No. That would only remind her of the Prince’s sweet honey-trap personality; of how she would feel like she’s safe, but then remembers instantly that she is not. “What should I call you?”

“Anything!  _ Anything! _ Just not that!”

“Then, Georgie.”

_ Georgie _ . Georgiana remembers Father’s voice; his towering height. How, even as a child, she’d never been afraid of him. He would come home, and she’d be there, running right into his arms. Georgiana forces herself to breathe.

Think.  _ Think! _

She suspected this, has she not? Yes.

She suspects that it won’t be quick, this progression of her attempting to master swordsmanship. Just because she is the descendent of a warrior, born with natural athleticism and body fit for sport, that does not mean she’s any prodigy than the next boy who is grappling clumsily into his first step towards knighthood. And, what more, she does not need the full skill to fight adequately.  _ Just in case, is all _ . Just in case she needed to fight. That was what she was aiming for—not a full mastery, not in any attempts to win any jousting or fight-to-the-death competitions.

If it all went according to her plan, there won’t even  _ be _ a fight in the first place.

Because Georgiana would have made her way out of Westria a long time before that. She would’ve given zero chance for herself to succumb to any temptation of Dark Magic, to be put into trial or a death match for a Main Character who will take her place anyway. She would’ve taken any Bartlett's fine steed and left this land. She would’ve abandoned her name, decisively and immediately.

“Right.” Georgiana finally tells herself. There’s no use panicking. Just because there is a chance that she could not wield a sword properly by the time the Academy opens, it doesn’t mean she’ll stop practising at all. Her goal isn’t to abolish the Main Character, or to ensure that she will not be challenged. It is to secure her life past the age of eighteen.

She must remember this.

Georgiana runs a hand down her face.

For all that she was cold only moments ago, she feels nothing but sweat gathered across her palm. She goes ahead and wipes the towel across her face. “I could still wield a sword.”

“Yes,” Benjamin appears weary, but he’s quiet as he’s watching her. Unlike the other knights who are tethering on the edge of panicking—rightfully so, for Georgiana expects Father wouldn’t be pleased had he suspected that someone might have caused his one daughter distress—he’s cautious. Perhaps he thinks of her foul playing. Well, he certainly wouldn’t have put past her, she would imagine.

She’s acted to gain sympathy and support before.

“In due time.” Benjamin adds. “If it’s what you’re meant to do, what else is there but to do it?”

Georgiana is quiet; her expression splitting half in a glare.

“You worry.” Benjamin turns his back now, moving a hand that has a few of the squire scurrying away. When the squire comes back, they hand him some type of cloth. Or plastic. Georgiana isn’t sure. “I wouldn’t lie. I promise to teach you how to fight. Do you think I would go back on my words?”

_ No _ . That would be the quickest answer. Benjamin is many things to her: the symbol of her father’s unfaithfulness, the very being threatening her place in the household, the one who could potentially wield a sword and slay her, but he is also honest in his expressions, and he’s earnestly stubborn in a way that reminds her exactly that they’re tied by blood. He wouldn’t lie at all. Not without reasons, at least.

He isn’t malicious.

“I do have reasons to doubt, but…  _ no _ .” She feels foolish. Silly. Why had she acted the way she did? What reasons she had to panic? No, even before that, could she even afford to lose her composure with so much at stake? Her body is suddenly so heavy. “I apologise.”

Benjamin looks surprised, stunned into silence.

Until, of course, he blinks away and drops his gaze to the ground. Slowly, his light voice amends, “I… that’s alright. We’ll do exercises now to strengthen your upper body. It would be good if you’re able to keep your balance while you wield the sword later. Are you ready?”

What other choices she has?

“Yes.”

* * *

Willow isn’t happy that she comes home most days now covered in bruises and aching muscles.

In retrospect, Georgiana’s sure the bruises aren’t severe. There is a little discolouration, sure, but that was mostly due to her own carelessness. She wasn’t quick to keep up with a steadied Benjamin who barely flails while moving from one exercise to another. In comparison, she’d suffered worse during Madame Boutroux’s administration, or even that time when she fell from the horse and was unconscious for nearly one full week.

In fact, watching herself in the mirror in nothing but her sheer nightgown has her contemplating the times she’s pushed her body too far for a result that she wanted. It was all worth it, she believed, if it meant no efforts of hers would go to waste. All those light nights, reading and writing; all those afternoons spent conversing with her tutors and scholars; all those evenings she will go to ensure her place in the noble circle stays intact; all those moments in betweens where she will correct her posture or her speech or any of her activities to lessen the chance of her being anything less than perfect.

It was all worth it, even if she had to pay it by sacrificing her body.

Though she supposes it’s different now. Before, her obsession to gain the Prince’s respect and attention was what drove her to perfection. Now, Georgiana has a higher stake—her very life—to consider. 

_ This pain will only be temporary _ , she doesn’t tell Willow, though the thought is loud and firm in her head. Chin on her bent knees now, she repeats the mantra as if it’s a praying chant: _ I will be stronger, and quicker, and smarter. I will beat my prophesied fate. I could not afford to be careless. I will live _ .

“Willow, can I trust you with something?”

“Of course, my little Lady.”

Willow, who has been brushing her hair, doesn’t falter. In the mirror, Georgiana can see her dark eyes concentrating on her task, her mouth thinned into an expression that could almost be considered content.

For a second, Georgiana hesitates; not quite wanting to relay such heavy of a request in the middle of what appears to be a therapeutic process for the both of them—it is, after all, the few moments in her daily routine where Georgiana isn’t rushing to anywhere, isn’t meticulously thinking of her next step or the duty that awaits. It is only her and Willow, basking in the silence and the calm of the night.

In a moment of vulnerability, Georgiana nearly wants to apologise.

_ I wish you wouldn’t serve a villainous lady, Willow. I wish you’d serve someone so considerate of you, and not a hateful being who only thinks of herself. I wish I wouldn’t cause anybody the pain that I did, but I have. And I will. If it’ll ensure my survival.. _ .

Georgiana bites her lips.

“May I have a list?” The daughter to the Bartlett House turns. “Of the maids that were sent by the Imperial Palace? Who was asked to work here as a congratulatory gift of my engagement just as we sent some of Bartlett Knights to the Capital?”

At this, Willow blinks rapidly. Her brows furrowed together, rightfully confused. “Milady…”

“Or does the list not exist, Willow?”

“It does!” Willow quickly interjects, before her shoulders drop; her teeth clambering over her bottom lips, gnawing as she murmurs. “Or… it could be compiled together, rather. I do think Head Butler would know more. But Milady, I fail to understand—”

“I’d like you to trust me as much as I’m trusting you.”

“Milady!” Willow seems to pale. “Of course… Oh Gods of the Heavenly Lights, of course I trust you. I’ve raised you. I watched you grow. There is nobody in the world I could trust more.”

“And you’re precious to me as well, Willow.”  _ An older sister I could never have _ , Georgiana smiles, one hand extending to brush away at Willow’s bangs which must’ve been too short to be pulled into a bun.  _ A sister, Willow—or a guardian. One I certainly do not deserve _ . The thought squeezes at her chest. Certainly, Willow deserves more. Yet she’s here. Georgiana’s left with nothing but to make use of her situation as best as she’s able. “I would like that list, please. You can give it to me in a week, or two. Take your time. Don’t get caught. And do not ask me why.”

“Milady—”

“Are you able to do it, Willow?” Georgiana has her hands cupped against the maid’s cheek and, for a moment, she could see something like shock there registered in Willow’s familiar eyes, before it fades into something softer—resignation.

“Yes.” Willow finally nods, catching her hands. “Yes, Milady. Of course.”

“Thank you.” Georgiana whispers.

“How could I ever say no?” Willow manages a smile, “When you look so determined, Little Lady. You were always one spirited young girl. Sometimes I fear...”

Willow squeezes her hands.

“I fear you do so much, and you’d fall down again. You would hurt yourself.”

Georgiana looks to her laps. In her mind, she’s already gone back to the moment she slipped from the back of the steed, the sudden darkness that crowded her vision, and the slow wake she came to before being quickly informed that days have passed since she fell.  _ Hurt myself, huh? _ Georgiana thinks.

If Willow means the light scarring across her calves, these painful headaches she endures, and the exhaustion of having to live this life, hasn’t she already been hurting?

No. Pain could be easily managed if it means she will receive what she worked hard for.

Willow doesn’t understand—not that Georgiana blames her. To her, life must be so simple. Or, as simple as it could get for a house staff in a Great House. Before, she hadn’t understood why Georgiana needed to try so hard trying to impress the Prince when it was already so obvious that the match that was made could not be undone; now, she worries Georgiana will do more, either in the name of love, or to achieve some reckless goal she’s set for herself.

She’s not wrong.

Yet, what else could Georgiana do? Sits around and waits for the fate she foresaw came together? She would be reduced to nothing but a poor tale told to children to scare off into a good behaviour.

And Georgiana simply couldn’t stand that.

_ Fine _ , she’s given up on her love. She’s given up on her family. The Main Character can have it all: the fame, the glory, the attention and adoration of the public. Shouldn’t this be enough for Georgiana to ensure her life would be continuous past the graduating age of this Kingdom?

_ I wish I knew more. More, despite being equipped with all these knowledge. I’m greedy. If I’d known, if I was made to be aware of the Prince’s motive behind a spy or Benjamin’s changing hearts or even the other characters’ more delicate reactions, or if I could just remember the Main Character carefully and properly, I wouldn’t have to act so suspiciously as I am. I’d planned everything so very quietly, no one would notice a thing. Alas _ .

“Don’t worry, Willow.” Georgiana holds back her favourite maid’s hand, the grip is firm and solid. “Nothing will ever happen to me.”

Not her death, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i. I really don't have much to say on this chapter, except that it's one of my longest. It's certainly put a strain on me writing it, but I'm very happy with the results regardless!Thank you all for sticking it with me, and being here :)
> 
> ii. As you've read, this chapter focuses a bit on Georgiana's whole viewpoint and how the growth so far has affected her emotionally and mentally. How do you guys think she's coping? Alright? Or do you think it's slowly becoming bad for her? Tell me your thoughts and I'll see you the next chapter!
> 
> Next Chapter: A glimpse of more Damian. Benjamin and Georgiana talk. Georgiana goes to a tea party — introducing a bunch of new characters and the social state of Kingdom Westria!


	13. Socialite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter, we see how Georgiana copes with maintaining her skills. Later, she finally does something about the possible spies in her house.
> 
> We continue.

_ My dearest Lady Georgiana,  _

_ I do very hope this letter finds you in good health, as is the rest of your family. Wint’s Fest has passed well and calmly here in the Capitol. It is within my understanding that there is very little business you could do here in the Capitol but should you find the time and there is interest, I have overheard that The Firstqueen’s Square is lovely this time of year. _

_ I have written to you in between the preparation of my Day of Birth as well as Spring Coming. I apologise, in advance, if this letter at all may seem hurried and cluttered. It is not my intention in the first place to make it seem as if you are unimportant, or were the least of my priority, with the way I’ve written this letter. It would break my heart so if you would think so. _

_ Regardless, I shall relay the message I wish to tell now. In the next few weeks, I am afraid I would be ever too busy to try and drop by for a visit at your estate. His Majesty, the High King, and Her Majesty, the High Queen, very much liked me to stay in the Capitol during the celebration. Besides from the two week festivals, there is much to my duty I fear I must attend. _

_ I believe I will find time after things have settled down. I am already looking forward to the time we shall spend together. How are things in Barisol? Have your attempts in the kitchen gone any better? Please be careful. It would hurt me so to learn if you’ve injured yourself. _

_ Happy Spring Coming. _

_I remain_ _  
_ _Your True Fiance,_  
 _CROWN_ _PRINCE DAMIAN ALEXANDER GUILLAUME LEIGHTON_

_ Your Highness, _

_ The Wint’s Fest here has gone splendidly. Father managed to come home earlier than he intended and the whole family, as well as the staff of our estate, were able to give our thanks with little to none incident till the sun rose. I expect only great things in the coming year. _

_ Perhaps, if I behaved well, Father will allow me to partake in the exams which I have missed. Though then again, that is still so many moons away—practically a year apart since the very ones I did not make to enter. Surely Father would not be so impudent to have not allowed me by then, doesn’t His Highness think so? _

_ I wish you the utmost praise on your Day of Birth. The whole Kingdom, as is the year you were born, has surely gone abuzz with excitement. What a Majestic Blessing it truly is. I shall be looking forward to perhaps visiting the Firstqueen’s Square during Spring Coming, though I fear Father would not allow me so this year. The next, maybe; or the one after. _

_ Please, worry not that you may not be able to visit me. Do what you must. As the duty which came along when we both were promised to each other, I shall be preserved and understanding. Our Great Kingdom comes first. _

_ If there is anything at all His Highness may need consulting with, please do not hesitate to reach out to our House. _

_ Nation Barisol of Bartlett’s Ground, from my Father’s report and our discussion, is doing well. If things go as planned, the harvest we are expecting now that Winter has passed shall bear its fruits soon.  _

_ Things in the kitchen are still under heavy progress. I finally managed to handle cutting some of the vegetables well, but I am still not so very trusted to be near the stove.  _

_ I hope His Highness too, takes care of himself well. It would leave a heavy weight across my chest if I should be informed that you’ve grown ill from lack of care. Do send my love to the rest of the Imperial Family. _

_ Happy Spring Coming, as well. _

_ This is hoping I hear from you soon. _

_ All Yours, _ _   
_ _ Your Fiance, _ _   
_ _ GEORGIANA MADELLINE ROSE BARTLETT _

_ My dearest Lady Georgiana,  _

_ Today, I walked by the Palace’s Garden, the Continuous Bloom, and thought of our walks together. Things in the Palace have settled down as Spring Coming near its end, though I have yet been released completely from my mounting duties. How are you? How are your family? _

_ I fear I cannot write much. I apologise if this letter greets you is too short and solemn, though it warms my heart to know you have thought of me at all.  _

_ Have you heard? The next Grand Banquet will be held at Summer’s peak. I am looking forward to dance once again with you. _

_ As I told you countlessly before, I am sure your father only thinks greatly of you. Perhaps, if it worries you so much, I will be glad to discuss it with him. I will be sure to be subtle, Milady. It will be very exciting to know you passed the exams you so seek. _

_ I am very happy to hear the kitchen staff in the Barlett’s Estate are practising caution. You are a very precious member of this nation. Sometimes I fear you forget. _

_ Thank you very much for your well wishes. _

_I remain_ _  
_ _Your True Fiance,_  
 _CROWN_ _PRINCE DAMIAN ALEXANDER GUILLAUME LEIGHTON_

“Are you still writing to him?”

Georgiana tries her best to not roll her eyes. “Well, yes. He  _ is _ my fiancé, you know?”

Benjamin looks conflicted, brows furrowing together so harshly, even as he keeps his arms behind—a posture of a gentleman being told to wait. “Are you unconcerned?”

“Concern?” Georgiana folds whatever paper she’s attempted to write her reply on, stowing her pen away. There is no time to write now, she supposes, if her bothersome brother insists on interrupting her time. They must be away soon, anyway. A visit to the nearest town to shop. “Why must I be concerned?”

“He—” Benjamin, for a moment, seems alarmed; he looks around, nervous at being heard. “ _ He sent spies to listen to you. _ ”

Georgiana tries not to roll her eyes again. Honestly. They’re certainly no longer the hostile siblings, the both of them, but sometimes Georgiana couldn’t help feeling aggravated that she must be kept around while Benjamin splutters and stammers. “The Prince is quite honestly the  _ least _ of my concern.”

“The least?!” Benjamin blanches, the few times he’s ever really been expressional, if one simply doesn’t count the many times he’s frowned and scowled before. 

_ The least _ , Georgiana confirms in her head.

It could be worse. Gods, she thought she’d  _ explained _ it to this oaf of a brother of hers already! Georgiana inwardly sighs, and proceeds to take the gloves already splayed by the bed and wears them. It matters not, she supposes, if it teaches him to not lower his guards down. It’s occurred to her now that maybe this was why he’s been sending her more suspiciously frowning looks every time the Prince was informed to visit their estate.

Must she teach him how to wear a plain expression?

Gods no. The boy has already suffered an expression prone to scowling and full blank confusion that was usually masked with a look of indifference. Maybe it’s the years from living under the same roof with her bastard brother that Georgiana’s growing to read him better.

_ Perhaps _ , she thinks without much thought, now starting her ascend down the stairs. Benjamin, she could hear, trails behind. After a while, he grumbles.

“Must we go?”

“You’re hilarious.” Georgiana replies without missing a beat, deadpan. “Aren’t we already going?”

“Will it take long?”

“I believe I only need a few accessories for my hair and maybe some jewellery. Will Ser Percival and Ser Roland be accompanying us, today?” Georgiana asks, distracted, just as a maid—Heather, Georgiana recognises, bows, and joins them. “Oh, and maybe a few pieces of equipment for embroidery. I’ve run out of threads.”

Benjamin shakes his head. “Ser Roland’s taken a last-minute absence since his wife went into early labour, or so I’m told. He wouldn’t be here for the next few moons.”

“A babe is a heavy duty,” Georgiana manages, now coming forward just as the carriage pulls out. “I hope the wife is alright.”

“Hm. Ser Rizzio is in his place.” Benjamin explains. “And you ran out of  _ threads _ ? The million coloured lot you’ve gotten the last two months when you were in recovery? That one?”

“You’re snipey today, brother. Perhaps I’ll take a detour through the shops that sell clothes. Mother certainly was very generous with the money she gave us today.”

That pales him up and quietens him down. Georgiana grins in triumph, her chin tilting upwards by the time she’s entering the carriage. In all honesty, the only reason she’s finished the last set of embroidery was because it was, she learned, the only successful thing she would be able to do amidst all of the other trades she seems to be failing at, or has had the progression on it going on extremely slowly.

She could still remember a time when even embroidery wasn’t always the methodical and calming routine that it’d become. It was just—another thing that Ladies tend to do, or so explained by the tailor who would often come to dress her for special occasions. She remembers knowing that she was supposed to learn it first-hand, either by Mother, or Madame Boutroux, although it was dismissed.

_ She’s a future High Queen! _ She remembers her old teacher hisses.  _ She’s no time fiddling with a needle! _

She couldn't recall the true reason now—maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was to spite the mean educator—but what started out as a simple task with its set of challenges because something that could easily distract her if she were upset or needed the time to kill. Embroidery is… colourful, and pretty. And, truth be told, Georgiana likes it when she’s focused on creating something so colourful and pretty.

After a while, she became good at it.

Lately, knowing she was  _ good _ at it was the few things that kept her sanity intact. Cooking was still so difficult with the chefs and kitchen staff being wary and smarter at keeping her out. Baking was something she decides she’d give up on, just because it reminds her too painfully of the Main Character and what  _ she _ has already excelled at. Her routine time learning to fight is still kept to building her stamina, strength and reflexes—or so Benjamin claims.

Georgiana tells herself that there is no need to particularly rush.

There is still two years to go until it is time to register at the Academy, and three more until she prophetically dies.  _ There is still time _ , and yet, sometimes Georgiana is kept awake by the anxiousness due to her slow progress.

That’s another thing that embroidery helps with: calming her down.

_ If all fails, I could be a  _ _seamstress_. She thinks sardonically, gaze now falling to the small patterns she could see marking her dress. Today, she is in white that’s adorned with small red and pink flowers. The details of it are amazing. And, most of all, it has her hair — dark red and flowing down her back — stands out.  _ That isn’t so bad. I believe I could make the same flowers and leaves. _

“Mother asks me to buy you new attires, as well.”

Georgiana says without looking up.

Though when she does, Benjamin is staring at her tight-lipped and eyes wide. He looks just as he did when she threatened to buy clothes of her own—pale, shocked by the suggestion.  _ Honestly. Does he resent wealth in its entirety? _ Georgiana rolls her eyes.

“Ah,” He finally says. “There… There’s no need.”

“You’ve grown a little, haven’t you? Or, you will. We might as well get a few pants or shirts that could fit you as you are now before your next growth spurt. I believe Mother should accompany you then, though. I bet it’d be a _whole_ _day_ of you trying out clothes.”

“Gods.” Benjamin groans, racking a palm down his face.

Georgiana smirks.

“Plus, I’d like you to wear something brighter tomorrow. Nothing too— _ extravagant _ , of course. But certainly better than the depressing clothes you keep on wearing. If I hadn’t known any better, I ought to bet you’re to plan a riot.”

Benjamin turns away, the closest thing he’s looked to a pout. “I like dark clothes.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Tomorrow is the tea party.” Benjamin points out after a while. Not in any questioning manner, but a fact—a statement that needed acknowledging. “What do you plan for me to wear, Milady?”

“Milady,” Georgiana repeats, a soft breath under her mouth. That was what he used to call her, isn’t it? Until the other day. When was that? One week ago? Two weeks? It felt like a lifetime, thinking back on it now. “I thought I’d ask you to not address me any longer by that.”

And then, just because she could, “Stupid brother.”

Benjamin’s face sours.

He dips his chin downwards, contemplative just as the sound of the busy town is setting in. Even in the distance, Georgiana can hear the yells and shouts of shops promoting its items. She turns to peek Heather, the maid, grinning, and straining into the little window to see outside. Across from them, Benjamin remains silent.

Until, “Georgie.”

“That’s my name. And yours is Benjie. Father does like his nicknames.”

Benjamin is still staring at his laps, but he’s smiling, under the fringe of his own crimson-red hair.

“And to answer your question, maybe I’ll put you in yellow. That’ll teach you to not forget your manners again, I hope.”

When Benjamin scowls, Georgiana pretends she isn’t secretly smiling.

* * *

If all is accounted for on a technicality, this  _ technically _ doesn't count as a tea party.

Tea parties are a grand social activity that is attended in groups, from six people to twelve, usually consisting of ladies who have already socially debuted. They could range from single women who are seeking a proper marital status, to those who are engaged, and those who are married. It is enjoyed mostly by ladies of the noble social circle, and is a great chance for the women to practise their educated interactions.

Sometimes, though rarely, they use these occasions to discuss business. There have been ladies, Georgiana is aware, who use the power that comes with hosting or attending the parties, to ignite interests by marketing the businesses they’re doing. Other times, they share life tips and exchange information. Educators, schools, new lifestyles are often dictated through these.

Most of the time though, it’s mostly a place to establish connections and share gossip.

At this age, it is yet to be considered  _ the _ tea party.

Which is why Georgiana attends one with a male chaperone, her bastard brother, as is the custom. The tea party is also small, usually three to five people, and nothing as luxurious as one would usually encounter if it’s the tea parties for ladies who have already officially debuted into society.

Georgiana doesn’t find these parties boring.

It takes more time than necessary, yes, and she doesn’t usually like the travel that comes with agreeing to an invitation that’s nowhere close near her area, but she finds it useful. Pleasurable, even. When she enters a new estate or manor, she is graciously welcomed.

There had even been one time when a tea party was fully interrupted by the poor girl’s father, all because he thought earning Georgiana’s favour could perhaps lead him to have a direct appointment with any of the Council members.

This time though, she’s invited into the estate of Great House Abbas of Crossriver—one of the seven Great Houses in the entire Kingdom—so there isn’t a need to worry for any pestering fathers or curious mothers. Great Houses usually treat one another with the same level of superiority, for their ancestors were all a part of the original Holy Entourage and held relatively the same amount of power in the nation as they’re already a permanent member of the Council.

As such, Demetria Abbas doesn’t necessarily gape at the sight of her.

A year older, and one of the few candidates as Prince Damian’s fiancé before the Church insisted on House Bartlett, Demetria only looks slightly concerned. “We’re so ever glad you could make it, Lady Georgiana. The rumours must be untrue then, that you were worse off from the fall.”

“Untrue, indeed. I merely exercise what’s left of the time till the end of the year to spend it fully with my family, is all. Rest assured, I’ve recovered plenty as soon as I awoke.”

By Georgiana’s right, Ginger Addair claps her hands together. “How wonderful!” Unlike Demetria, she seems awestruck; pale cheeks tinted pink while her eyes, Georgiana suspects, remains unblinking. Staring fixedly at her.

Georgiana tries maintaining her smirk.

“Is it true that the Prince visited you while you were sick?” Isla O’Callaghan, from the end of the table, joins in; voice rushed, excitement obvious in her tone.

Ginger and her shriek together, while Demetria, she could see from the corner of her eyes, rolls her own eyes from behind the cup she’s sipping into.

Georgiana tells herself she’s not thrilled by the prospect of being admired, so much so that it triggers many girls to act the way Ginger and Isla does, but a large part of her is pleased. Wasn't this why she worked so hard for? Wasn’t this what she wanted in the first place? Georgiana takes a sip of her own cup, trying to hide the smile she could feel growing around the edges from bleeding into her expression.

_ Better they focus on the Prince _ — something in her reminds herself —  _ than they point out how I still fail to take the exams as I should _ .

“He was… very charming.” Georgiana answers cheekily, only to watch Ginger and Isla shriek again, their own cheeks red and plumped from grinning too much.

Minutes, almost an hour, spent like that — the girls bombarding Georgiana with questions regarding the Prince, Demetria pretending she isn’t equally interested, before they round off to speak about events happening in their own lives and what other young ladies their age were rumoured to be doing. Apparently, Colleen Morningstar coloured her hair dark as an act of rebellion, Mia Packton has several lovers, and Jennifer Alwick’s parents were rumoured for a divorce.

“It’s quite a nasty one, that one.” Isla adds.

“I heard Jennifer’s mother had even asked Earl Alwick to merely continue his affairs rather than have the Church recognise their broken marriage.” Demetria tells, her voice even and slow, a calming tone, yet Georgiana could hear the hush of the gossip there; the same sort of voice Ginger and Isla is good at wearing. “Honestly, I wouldn’t know what’s worse.”

“I wonder what Colleen was thinking!” Ginger fusses. “She has such beautiful blonde hair!”

Isla, herself, nods along. With one hand, she twirls her black hair before reaching out to place one on Ginger’s arm, a sign of comfort. Georgiana herself does the same. These are all an act she’s used to performing. It isn’t that she _isn’t_ _sincere_ , per se, for a part of her feels Ginger’s dissatisfaction upon recalling Colleen’s yellow strands turning any other shade than what they have always known of her, but it’s also instinct.

Another thing to do in events like this.

Until Demetria cuts her train of thoughts clean. “I see you brought the bastard.”

Georgiana doesn’t feel her shoulders stiffen, but it might as well have been, “I have.”

“You’re no longer ashamed of him?”

_ Gods, why does Demetria always insist on acting like this every time? _ One moment, Georgiana would know that she honestly cares, and the next, she’s atrocious. Difficult to deal with. Though she supposes that is the way life is for her now; to answer cutting remarks calmly. How, again, does the Prince do this? “Rather than ashamed, I would say he was yet ready to accompany me before.”

“So, he was incompetent? How predictable.”

“Incompetent?” Georgiana echoes. “I know not what you must have heard, Lady Demetria, but I was sure it is that same bastard who has defeated five famous knights in the last tourney.”

“Defeated? Incredible. As expected of _House_ _Bartlett_.” Isla whispers while Demetria’s clouded blue eyes narrow, her expression close to seething.

“Rather than defeat, wouldn’t you say it’s more likely due to him being absolutely barbaric?”

“I would say that you ought to be careful of what you continue to say regarding my bastard brother, Lady Demetria. Accusing him a barbarian points out you may have some ill-thoughts regarding I, who is related to him. Would you accuse His Highness Prince Damian Leighton to be as ludicrous and thoughtless for he has chosen me, the one you claim to share the blood of a barbarian, as his fiance and the future High Queen of this Kingdom?”

Demetria’s furrowed brows grow more into a split between anger and shock. Anger, Georgiana suspects, that her pride has to take the hit of being reminded of her place. And shock, for Georgiana lays no hesitation in brutally threatening the girl.

Around the table, the other girls are frozen.

Georgiana sips on her tea.

“I…” Demetria hangs her head. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Lady Demetria mustn’t have meant it,” a small voice interrupts. Georgiana turns her head to her left, and takes in the dark-skinned girl with hair as bright as the bloom of cherry blossoms.  _ Maren Antoinette Wischer _ , Georgiana recites the name. She’s never really seen the girl before; and, the whole time, she’d kept herself awfully quiet though her eyes would flutter and widen at any new news the other girls would share.

_ Timid _ , was what Georgiana immediately concluded of her.

And yet, Maren Antoinette attempts a smile right now—a little wobbly, a little shy, but she pushes through. “None of us would, Lady Georgiana.”

“He’s only a bastard,” Demetria insists.

_ True, he is. _ To the high-class society of this kingdom, Benjamin’s blood and background is still dirty and sullied. His status, despite being housed under one of the most influential families in the nation, is low. Hell, if it hadn’t been for that damned memory of her horrendous past life—all lived in regret when all she last remembered was her, lying, pained and bloodied, on the street—she would have held the same opinion.

She’s changed, though.

She will leave this Kingdom one day, and Benjamin cannot afford to stay in his self-pity bubble if he has any guts to take on the heir title Father will probably pass the age. Bastard be damned, anyone recognised as a Bartlett shall be treated with a respect deserving of a Bartlett. Georgiana will ensure this.

Her head, in the meantime, throbs.

“A bastard of  _ my _ father, Great Lord of House Bartlett, Councilman to the Imperial Body, and Descendent of Saimon Bartlett the Warrior. I speak nothing but praise for your House, Lady Demetria. I shall expect the same courtesy could at least be extended to me by any members my father has decided to care for.”

These are large words, Georgiana knows, and larger insinuation behind it enough that it could almost be a threat. Of course, it wouldn’t easily be translated in such a way coming from two ladies of perpetually equal standing. Had it been any other girl in Demetria’s place however, Georgiana knows this entire situation couldn’t be diffused so easily.

As such, Demetria finally sighs aloud—as if whatever they’ve discussed were only a petulant subject she now tires of hearing.  _ Typical _ . There will be many more questions like that in the future, Georgiana gathers. Many more snarling accusations and awful prejudices she’s yet to endure. Benjamin too, that oaf. She ought to tutor him in how to use their family’s influences if he must.

Gods, her head is  _ throbbing _ .

“ _ Fine _ ,” Demetria finally concedes. “I apologise.”

Finally. “I accept.”

“If I may,” Ginger voices, “Speaking of boys truly has me wondering what has our chaperones been up to.”

“You arrive with your cousin, isn’t that right, Lady Ginger?”

“Yes! Caleb is only staying with us until his admittance to the Academy next year. Though Father insists he should continue studying, he really likes to travel. That’s why he’s eager to hear every time I’m invited anywhere. And you, Lady Isla?”

“My knight accompanies me. Ser Alexis is young, but he’s already quite talented with a sword. As you know, my brother is much too old, and married, to be my official chaperone.”

Georgiana turns to Maren Antoinette. “And you, Lady Maren Antoinette?”

“Oh, I—” a blush runs high across Maren Antoinette’s cheeks, and she stammers, “—ah, there's a knight, too. We only have such a small amount, because most young boys are, um, sent to the Main House. I, ah, it’s Ser Alphonso. He’s very kind to have accompanied me today.”

“Alphonso,” Georgiana recounts. “It could not be the same Alphonso de Simone, could it? The knight who led the troop into the War of the Border and returns with nearly all but two of his men safe?”

“Ah!” Maren Antoinette smiles curve wider. “That’s right. As expected, _you’re_ _brilliant_.”

Brilliant? Not quite. It was just part of recent History she remembers she insisted on learning.

Generally, there wasn’t much of a need for a Lady of any respectable noble family to have known or admired so much of the knights and fighters alike, unless they were discussing choices for marriage or gossip—but Georgiana had figured she could at least acknowledge the notable warriors who have fought, at least those in the recent wars.

Worse comes to worst, experienced soldiers could provide useful insights. Georgiana isn’t blind from seeing the merit of at least learning their names and the exact service they have done.

Again, she’s reminded quickly of how simply tenacious she’s been at wanting the Imperial Family’s approval. So much so, that she’d gone out of her way to learn details no Lady usually cares to learn of.

Even Demetria’s eyes glazed over with disinterest once she found out that Ser Alphonso isn’t a maritable candidate. She addresses the other ladies around the table diplomatically, gorgeous brown hair pinned into curled tendrils down her back.

“Well, Ser Alphonso aside, if you girls are too eager to see what the boys are up to, I mind not moving the party to our courtyard.”

The other ladies giggle, and nod.

Georgiana, while she has no particular want to see Benjamin attempting to socialise with the other chaperones seeing as she sees him nearly daily at their estate, being stilted and awkward, still moves along. She’s got one gloved hand pressing against her temple though, wondering if she could excuse herself to merely sit by the patio while the ladies continue their admiring.

This damn headache.

Georgiana couldn’t think of a worser illness.

One could detect a broken bone, and bruises are easy to sport. Though headaches? Headaches are internal, and having them too much could raise suspicion among jealous socialiates. Either they would render her as someone who pretends to avoid socialising, or incompetent due to health risk.

Georgiana is not yet ready for any sort of annihilation.  _ It isn’t time yet, you stupid head _ , she thinks bitterly, worrying her mouth and praying her heels wouldn’t slip right under her step as they head right out of the tea room.

Spring is beautiful in the Abbas’ Estate.

Rather than the colourful patches of flowers in Bartlett’s own, their garden leading to the training field is trimmed to maintain an image of crisp cleanliness. The bush is lush green, and squared along the path. The flowers, just one kind,  _ orange _ , turn yellow, halfway through. Methodical. Thoroughly planned.

Georgiana recalls briefly of Continuous Bloom, the Palace’s own garden, and what Damian mentioned.

_ Today, I walked by the Palace’s Garden, the Continuous Bloom, and thought of our walks together. _

She smiles faintly—perhaps if he had been engaged with Demetria instead, he would have written the same thing. Georgiana herself, has very little memory of Continuous Bloom from her short visit to the Palace when she was eight, but she’s sure whatever he wrote was only for the sake of formality; a routine they established and was probably heavily monitored by the Church.

She wonders what it is, exactly, that the Church sees so much in her that they were convinced she’d been right for the position of High Queen?

_ Was it because I was hard-working? _ She presses her mouth together.  _ Was it because I was the first and only Lady of noble blood my age to have taken the Foreign Language Grade 1 and Philosophy Grade 1 exams and passed when I was five years old? _

Georgiana winces at a sudden sting, and feels a hand securing itself around her arm. When she opens her eyes, she sees Maren Antoinette’s large green ones blinking back. An expression of worry. Have they stopped walking? When had that happened?

“You’re staggering, Milady.” Maren Antoinette’s voice is small, high-pitched and tender, but she’s firm. Serious, as she leads Georgiana to still. “You’re unwell.”

“Flutters in my head.” Georgiana dismisses. “They will pass.”

“I do think it’s better we take you indoors. Besides, Lady Demetria, Lady Isla and Lady Ginger are already so far ahead. I—perhaps Lady Demetria may have something to ease the flutters. I could ask.”

“Ah,” Georgiana manages. “Could you now?”

She doesn’t mean for it to sound condescending, even dismissively judging. Yet, Maren Antoinette’s cheeks burn red. She looks down, a posture of timidness, though the hold she has over Georgiana doesn’t waver. “I… My family… we… medicine. We—grow herbs for it. A-and. Mix them. Trade.”

“You’re stuttering, Lady Maren Antoinette.”

“I—” She seems to be shrinking. “I’m sorry.”

“I did not say what I said for you to apologise, Milady.” Georgiana finds her voice close to snapping, teeth grinding together. She does have a certain dislike towards timidness, she realises. Though she’s uncertain why that is when it’s only logical people to cower and make themselves small in the presence of a lady with so high of a standing. “I merely pointed out the truth. Do I scare you?”

“O-oh, gosh— _ gosh no!” _ Maren Antoinette gasps, possibly lying. “I just… my family is—small. We’re not… We haven’t been nobles for long. I—”

“You are embarrassed?”

“Wh-what?”

“Are you embarrassed of your family?” Georgiana tilts her head. “Do you dislike them when they are mentioned?”

Maren Antoinette’s shoulders bunches together. “N-no. I… It’s the opposite! I…  _ I love them _ .”

Georgiana waits. “And yet?”

The girl with hair like cherry blossoms clasp her hands together in front of her with wobbly lips. For a second, Georgiana feels unhinged; a sense of familiarness that grasps at her though she could barely recall from where the image has become so similar. Georgiana feels unsettled, until recognition warms into her mind.

_ Benjamin. She reminds me of Benjamin when he first came to the estate. A weak tiny thing who was frightened of me; frightened of what I could do, rightfully _ .

The fiancé of the Crown Prince feels nauseous all of a sudden, stomach twisting as if she’s been subjected to spoilt food and were suffering from it. Whatever knot that’s growing though, it lumps quickly into sharp anger. Had Georgiana whipped out a lash? Had her words been so cruel that it deserves such a pathetic reaction? 

Wasn’t she merely asking?

_ Georgiana The Arrogant, the selfish mean girl relentless at striking any who crosses her way. _

_ Georgiana The Arrogant, instilling fear anywhere she goes. _

_ Georgiana The Arrogant, the one nobody loves, the frightful monster. _

“I’ve no intention to continue speaking with a Lady who could not speak properly for herself.” Her head’s spinning, and her blood is boiling. She suddenly feels like running. The fresh crisp of air every time she finishes her laps and she’s breathing heavily to provide for her poor, wheezing lungs. She feels like picking up the wooden sword Benjamin has agreed to give her, just to try her attempt at swinging and the force of hitting the training dummy.

She wants to do something,  _ anything _ , but to be here, pretends she is poised and calm and perfect.

Georgiana is ready to turn, until Maren Antoinette stutters. “W-wait!”

Georgiana glares.

“You are unwell. Let me… at least let me try to—to help ease it? The pain?”

“How?” Georgiana demands, squinting despite the fact she’s worn the hat that came with the dress, shielding her from the sun.

“Peppermint could help. I-It — it’s very favourable at helping reduce pain in the head. East of Crossriver’s famous for being the main producer, besides from Rosevalley. It also originates famously in the Third Continent. Of course, caffeine is far more popular and is traded more at Trader’s High in Mera’s Laughter for essentially treating the same thing, b-but I do prefer peppermint. It… it leaves a fresh sort of sensation to your tongue, though Mother likes to argue that the after taste could be overwhelming to new patients.”

“And you think—” Georgiana waves to the general estate. “Lady Demetria has this peppermint?”

“It’s v-very popular nowadays to have flavoured teas. Even if not a lot, I’d wager Lady Demetria might keep peppermint in the off chance the Abbas House could serve a guest who enter and go into the Estate with such a— a sp-specific request.”

Georgiana watches the other Lady.

She’s still trembling, eyes downcast to the ground. For a Lady with such a rich information, and such stubbornness to ensure another wouldn’t walk away without having been ‘treated’, she’s cowardly. A small thing easy for Georgiana to scoff and dismiss.  _ Yet… _

“And if it does not work?” Georgiana’s voice is clear, as if the headache, for that one moment, is gone; she is the confident girl who danced in the Prince’s arms, who stood face-to-face with an adult scholar and were able to carry a perfect and intelligent conversation in three different languages. She is untouchable, a force no one would dare come near let alone ruin.

_ Georgiana The Arrogant—but hasn’t she got the right to be? _

“What happens then? Will you take responsibility?”

This time, she means it to slightly torment; to challenge.

Maren Antoinette, in spite of her tone, finally looks up. In her eyes, a clear green colour, even with her still wobbling lips, are the kind of stubbornness Georgiana knows she can appreciate. She shakes her head, answers, “No. Because it will work.”

She seems confident, nodding once. “I know it will.”

Georgiana feels her mouth twitching into the smallest form of a smile, and allows Maren Antoinette to lead her inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i. And yes, you read that right: I did named the character Maren Antoinette based on Marie Antoinette. At first, the name just came to me because I liked the regality that came with the name — it just sounded elegant, and classy for some reason. In the end, I ended up really admiring Marie Antoinette, the former Queen of France, because her history was absolutely fascinating; and, in a way, her lifestyle and major downfall would be a major theme played in later arcs! So, perhaps this could be a good homage?
> 
> ii. I actually did pick up embroidery as a hobby right after writing this lol, and it's been really fun so far!
> 
> iii. This will be explained later, but as a quick trivia and quick catch-up: the Kingdom of Westria has seven (7) Great Houses and two (2) Recognised Duke. In terms of power and influences in the noble circuit, they're all equal and are only second to the Imperial's. Each House and the Dukes have a land to manage on their own, with smaller Houses operating under them and so on. In this case, Barisol is a land under Bartlett's territory; Crossriver is Abass', who is also a Great House.
> 
> iv. I think I might be a bit busy in the upcoming week, so updates might be a little bit slow!
> 
> In the next chapter: we learn a little of the Kingdom's background. See you guys next time!


	14. State of Nation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter, Georgiana dealt with the progress of her survival. Later, she was invited to a tea party and met a few new people.
> 
> In this chapter, we will learn more about the Kingdom. And possibly... A hint about upcoming characters?

Spring nears its end.

The formal invitation to the Grand Banquet, as expected, arrives in the form of a pristine letter just a week before Summer approaches. A yearly tradition, the Banquet has been a formal and traditional fundraising event that was meant to be taken as an opportunity for the Houses to give back to its fighting men and civilians for their efforts in the Shadowed War against the tyrannical king.

It celebrates not only the Kingdom’s independence, but supposedly the time of the year to highlight the charity with which the rich treat their men with.

A long-drawn tradition as it’s been, the initial meaning and purpose became nothing more than a mere formal statement. Nowadays, the famous “event of the year” was just another extravagant ball for the House that hosts it to show its wealth to the guests who came. The guests who came, in return, tried to widen or maintain any relationship — whether personal or business — over the time the Banquet went on.

Either by flourishing their own wealth, exchanging more gossip, or introducing young ladies and men of their family with a wedding in mind, the routine is the same.

Since it goes around the Kingdom, this year the Banquet, as expected, will be held in Uthen’s Point of House Saab, so called the Pillars of the South. It is under House Saab that the Kingdom owed most of its excellent trading to as it holds Westria’s biggest shipping dock and receives an annual of more than hundred thousands of ships per year passing on its waters. Certainly, it isn’t as impressive as their sister country, Mera’s Laughter, a Free Nation, whose sole purpose was to exist as an international trading port, but still, impressive enough that, in the early years of establishing Westria’s government, their first official administration house began there.

From over her shoulders, Georgiana could already hear Willow and a few other maids giggling.

She has no doubt they are all bowing their heads together and chattering around the possibility of dressing her when the time comes. After all, what is more exciting than being able to help the future High Queen of one’s kingdom before she was swept away in the arms of her intended? If Georgiana had been younger, or had gone on without the memories that she’s received, perhaps she would’ve thought the same.

This isn’t to say that she isn’t looking forward to the Banquet at all—because she still could feel her heart beats excitedly at the idea of all those attention on her, thank you very much—but she knows that her worries expand more than the sort of dress she’ll be picking, and the new accessories Father and Mother would certainly indulge her in purchasing.

_ I never figured I’d be the kind to be nervous about meeting anybody _ , Georgiana ponders, setting the letters right on the tray splay by the butler who has brought her the news.  _ To think, I could meet all the capture targets at one place _ .

It’s horrifying, to an extent.

Horrifying because she’s still a beginner in the arts of wielding swords. Should these very capable, very presumably skilled men come at her for an attack, she would have no way to defend herself. Until, of course, Georgiana catches her own thoughts.

_ Don’t be ridiculous, _ her mind scolds.

As far as she’s concerned, there isn’t a reason for Georgiana to die just yet. There’s years to come until the Academy begins and they all meet the Main Character. She hasn’t been mean nor offensive to the subject of affection of four influential young men, and she hasn’t fallen prey to any Dark Magic.

There’s no reason for her to be so tense.

And yet—there’s a strong mixture of feelings she could feel at the base of her throat. If she closes her eyes now, she could almost see it: her past self clicking on a cool, smooth surface. Upon that surface were her own pixelated image, a shell of the young lady she’d become, being completely in possession of a spirit and its magic that she clearly could not control.

_ Magic _ . Georgiana repeats the word nonchalantly. A tricky subject.

A long time ago, the Kingdom of Old Cicero was ruled by none other than the most powerful family in town—the one family who had learnt to obtain and wield the Dark Magic. It was said to be one of the most dangerous and powerful forms of Magic there is and that, the longer one wields without being careful of the effects and consequences, the more rotten the wielder would become.

The more maddening it could affect its user.

True as the word had been proclaimed, the many people living in Old Cicero laid witness to their deteriorating country as corrupted leaders beat away and terrorised its citizens. All the while, the feared Royal Family maintained its reputation and standing, always all-seeing from their magic, always so terrifying.

Their one heir, Stephen, took to the throne at age fifteen years old, igniting decades of terror from his reign.

Dubbed infamously as Stephen Who Sins, it was said that Stephen’s years on the Crown were one of the worst ones the Kingdom has ever observed. Rumours has it that Stephen personally assassinated all of his four siblings to ensure his place on the throne was never questioned, bedded various people including adults and children alike as he pleased, carried out orders to kill should he suspect any disobedient or plans of treason even if it’s within his most trusted council.

When Vince emerged, a cheeky and charming orphan abandoned and starved at the edge of the country, Stephen had regarded him as nothing but another rebellious voice that would fail. Even if any were able to come near the One Who Sins, the Dark Magic he wields could certainly silence and keep the fighting relatively short.

But Vince not only convinced men to fight for his cause, he’d allied nations from North to South, amassing him a powerful and incredible army. Vince the Just was not only strong in his determination to stop the tyrannical Kaiser and end his rulings, but Vince was also smart and he was kind and he was fair.

Most importantly, he had his most trusted council, the Holy Entourage, who were willing to fight and die for him through the excruciating war.

His best friend, Wallace, too, being the person who had given up his soul to carry the Ethereal Magic blessed by the Light Spirit—the one magic which could weaken the Dark Magic immensely—trusted in Vince’s vision.

Once Stephen has been slain in the long drawn-out battle, Vince the Just was quickly crowned as King. He abolished all previous administration, established a new government, and started the Kingdom he then called Westria. As reward, he had given his Holy Entourage—the seven men who had fought alongside him through the years—a land of their own, and officialised their standings and family as Westria’s Great Houses.

Thus, House Northcott, House Bartlett, House Abbas, House Saab, House Vanderburgh, House Jack and House Eagler were born.

It was only Wallace, the King’s Champion, who rejected a land and the officialise name.

Seven years after Vince took the crown, Wallace disappeared to elope with a woman he fell in love with. Traces of any Ethereal Magic and Dark Magic were never seen of again.

Until Georgiana is possessed by it years from now, the Dark Magic, only to be defeated oh-so-coincidentally by the love rival who happens to be the next wielder of the extremely rare Ethereal Magic. How convenient.

Georgiana pinches the bridge of her nose.

At least the headache hasn’t been so frequent.

Usually at this time, she would have to ask Willow to assist her so she would lay down. Willow’s already so worried that she’s been bothered by joining Benjamin into torturing her body physically, but if she’s started to notice that Georgiana has been slipping to take naps between her schedules to ease the pain in her head? Gods, what sort of hell Father would unleash then if it’d been reported.

Exams aside, he will probably forbid so much of her activities.

_ I worry _ , Father would say.

_ Well, there’s nothing to be worried about _ , she would snap right back, although nothing at all, in actuality, would actually be solved.

_ The peppermint tea really did help _ , Georgiana considers, now having her eyes fixed outside the window. From here, she could see the maids below drying up the clothes along the thin, fine threads. Three of them altogether are pinning one clothes after another, and a child—the daughter of one of the help—stands by the wet basket. Sometimes, when it’s needed, she lends a hand.

_ More than that, the girl had explained the procedure carefully.  _ Georgiana thinks back on the dark-skinned girl with cherry blossoms for her hair. It’s been a full week since the tea party, and while her condition is far from ideal, she certainly isn’t in as much pain as she’s used to be in when it comes to her having the awful headaches.

Georgiana gnaws on her bottom lip.

_ The girl knew, too, of the origin and what other purposes the herbs could do _ .  _ What else had she mentioned? That her family grew it? I’m curious. _

If, by some miracle, she could escape this Kingdom when it’s time, perhaps learning what she could eat or not eat in the wilderness might be helpful? It would certainly benefit her to identify a few herbs that might save her from a fever or some aches.

She could plan it all in her head as she wants, but to be physically ready for a life that is so vastly different than this lavish one she’s living? She could imagine how these would help.

“It’s the invitation, isn’t it?” Benjamin asks from out of nowhere. He’s sitting there across from her, trying his best to pin down dates and names from the book she’s instructed him to read. His voice sounds curious, but unconcerned; gaze still so intent on the pages and whatever ink that has smeared right across the side of his hands.

Benjamin is usually put in milder clothes. Either that by request, or something that was routined, Georgiana isn’t certain. She is, however, aware that Benjamin isn’t always put in clothing that’s consistently luxurious. It’s made of fine fabric, of course, and there are always boys and children in worse condition if there’s ever need to compare—but it is certainly not always expensive or excessive.

Still, Georgiana could see ink catches onto his sleeves; tainting the light coloured dark and causing Benjamin to silently curse.

She wonders if the maids secretly moan over the extra work, or her half-brother that clumsy when it comes to writing.

“It’s to the south this year,” Georgiana tells him. Surely, one of these days, Father will come home soon to officialise it over the dinner table. If she’s being fair as well, she’s sure the Grand Banquet isn’t exactly a secret. Benjamin would know without her affirming. She likes informing it regardless, though.

Sometimes it’s nice to simply have a conversation.

Maybe it’ll distract her from the tainted sleeves.

“I’ve heard.” Benjamin manages. “I think Mother couldn’t come.”

“If you seek to stay behind like you have the past few years, I do implore you to stop. You’ll turn thirteen soon. That trick will not work any longer.”

Benjamin flinches, “A b-bastard such as I—”

“—is still a member of the Great House, or have you forgotten what we’ve discussed so long ago, brother?”

Her half brother presses his mouth together, but under his slightly tanned complexion, Georgiana isn’t blind from witnessing the horrifying blotches of red that’s decorating downwards across his cheeks. She supposes even after the time they’ve spent together—so awfully close for the siblings who tended to never be in the same room most of the time before—it was still a long way to go to treat one's insecurity and trauma.

What a cruel world indeed they’re living in—doesn’t this only mean they ought to strive to be better? To be above such a cunning system of lifestyle?

“You will inherit Father’s place once Father deems you competent. And you won’t be one if you do not ever attempt to engage in events such as these.”

Benjamin’s brows furrows, whatever concentration he has given his studies stray to the end of the table. He appears unhappy. “It’s just…”

“ _ What _ ,” Georgiana finds herself snapping.

His body stiffens.

“Nothing,” he denies, “I find it— _ stifling, _ is all. Meaningless. Nobody is ever sincere.”

Georgiana feels like laughing.

There’s even a sensation just right below her chest that bubbles upwards. The young daughter of House Bartlett feels a small twitch to the corner of her lips, though thankfully what’s come out in the end is a light, almost delighted scoff, and not the boisterous sound that may just come out manic—delirious. “Nobody is expected to be.”

The half-brother of hers shakes his head, stubborn.

“It’s not right,” he argues.

“And who’s to say what  _ is _ right?”

Georgiana meets his eyes, serious.

“Certainly, to live a life not being courteous all the time would be ideal. To not always check over what you speak, to think over how you’ve behaved—it would be less tiring, yes? But that doesn’t mean it’s a lifestyle any less meaningless than any other,” Georgiana’s voice is clear, clipped, and direct. “Do you believe then, that Father has wasted his life wearing his title? Mother, too?”

“N-no!” Benjamin’s tone reaches a high peak. “Of course not.”

For a moment, Georgiana is struck with this mighty sense of guilt. Every time they’ve ever discussed something remotely serious or political it seems like she would bring in the subject of their parents, knowing Benjamin wouldn’t dare sullying their names. Whether that simply came from what he was taught as a bastard, or he had truly garnered respect and adoration towards the Bartlett couple, Georgiana isn’t sure.

Frankly however, she couldn’t quite care.

If it could deliver the point of the argument much quicker, the better.

“Everyone is attempting to live the life they live with what they’re being given. Some, like us, were born with names and titles to inherit. Some are not. I believe we all make do,  _ we all survive _ . And here you are, brother, so easily dismissing our efforts just because—what, some ladies gossip? Some men were pretentious?”

The space between his brows crumpled. “You know it’s more than that.”

“I am not  _ foolish _ ,” Georgiana’s voice turns cold, it turns sharp. “Cruelty and having a lavish way of living is not the same, brother, and it is unfair of you to merely lump all the noblemen together just because some of whom you know treated you badly.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Benjamin seems reluctant to share.

“I’m certain not a lot of people do,” Georgiana could hear her own respond somehow grows mellow, almost hesitant. She thinks back of the life that flashes across her eyes during the time she fell from the horse; the virtual life from a small screen, now looking more like a dream than some sort of doomed prophecy.

Oh, to live in ignorance.

To live with all the privilege one was given and to not learn of any consequences—she had ended her life terribly yes, but at least, in that life, she had lived.

“I only…” Benjamin begins, but he stops, struggling. Georgiana decides to wait. “It’s easier, is all, when you’re duelling. If a knife hits you, you’re hurt. If you win a match, you are glorious. That is all. In the court, around the noble children, it’s…”

In a way, Georgiana feels like she could almost immediately agree.

As much as she enjoys the attention, she understands more than ever just how frustrating it could be, attempting to constantly maneuver her ways around everybody. Most ladies see her engagement as a blessing, most men see it as an opportunity. Georgiana Bartlett was not expected to rest, was not expected to admit to a mistake so easily—she has her family’s name to carry, her fiancé’s.

Everybody, to an extent, is the same.

Each carrying masks they would flip and switch in an order to maintain their reputation, or to dodge suspicion.

_ If only there was a manual written somewhere _ , she thinks.  _ Another book we could study together, this act of being sly, though I could imagine, brother, that you would hate it all the more. And to push you through a life with depression, a high distaste towards the life of a nobleman… that would be against what I am trying to achieve. I ask only that you could protect Father and Mother after I am gone, but it must still be within your conviction and willingness. _

“Not everyone is insincere all the time, brother.” She finally confesses, and the image of a blurred smiling face with soft sunset-coloured hair claims her vision before it fades.

It’s replaced quickly with Mother’s soft laughter whenever Father tells her of a funny story from the Capitol, of Demetria Abbas seriously asking of her injury when they were left alone and Benjamin was off to deal with the carriage, and of Maren Antoinette’s insistence for her to care for her health.

“I find that more reassuring,” she lands her gaze seriously on him, “To find the few people who would not lie to me in the crowd that would.”

Benjamin is quiet, seriously contemplating.

“If it helps you, that could become your mission to see how you could view the world differently, brother. Instead of painting everyone as the enemy, you must find out who would stand with you when the night comes.” Georgiana relays it as if it was truly important information, “Still, in a crowd of liars, you must be careful. You’re capable of it, Benjie. You’re stronger than you think.”

A bell ring signalling the time passing.

“Dinner will be served,” a butler comes to inform them, and the conversation is dropped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came out much later than I predicted ( ╥ω╥ )
> 
> I honestly didn't mean to. Life lately has been far more hectic than I predicted, and I am severely behind schedule in writing chapters ahead for Villainess' Woes. Which is why I have made a decision to put this fiction on hold — for a few weeks to a month — 'cause I'm really trying my best to tie up loose ends in real life while trying to give myself some time to write drafts for the next few chapters, have the chance to correct them if I find myself disliking the content, and _then_ publishing it.
> 
> At the current state I'm at, if I keep going, I really won't have the time to re-check any details and consider changing anything I've written because I'm constricted with this deadline I've set myself to. Before, I would have this free time to go over my future chapters, re-write a bunch of them if I feel some of the things are chunky or misplaced, and publish it during the appointed date once I'm satisfied. But now I'm caught up, and I feel like that freedom's gone if I'll continue.
> 
> Which is why I'm a little sorry to deliver the news. Ultimately though, I still have plans for Villainess' Woes — don't worry about that! — but I do hope it's okay if I'm taking some time to catch up with all the chapters and deal with the issues in real life!
> 
> In the next chapter: THE GRAND BANQUET PLOT IS HERE (☆ω☆) We're gonna see Damian again, Maren Antoinette's making an appearance once more, Benjamin is nervous about socialising, aaaaaand will we meet either Edward Northcott and Micah Hartford? Perhaps. Who do you guys wanna know more of? [Eyes emoji]
> 
> I will see you all hopefully before or on September 7! ♡


	15. The Grand Banquet I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew... It's been a while, huh?
> 
> I know, I know! I promised it'll come on September, but if I were honest with you guys? For a moment there, I lost the muse. Not so much that it completely disappeared, but just that I was focusing on some other interest and the muse for this story was quiet for a long time. To tell you the truth, I'm still struggling to maintain the level of easy attention I had when I first started, but hey, at least I'm writing again, right?
> 
> So, this arc really took a while, but I have been working on them for the past month — mostly just writing and editing and cropping out sections and re-writing them again, and (exhales) it's a lot, you guys. It's fun, though! But I suppose I'm still a little impatient, which is why I was determined to have this published, and get to know what everybody think. (*≧ω≦*)
> 
> I have the next few chapters already lined up, sans some last-minute editing that I'm sure I'll obsessively perform, and I'm excited to see what you guys think of where this story is heading!
> 
> Which leads me to my next update: so, I was recently hired for employment, and I'm having some family affairs on the side I needed tending to. To add, Just today, the government announced a movement restriction order which slightly worries me, because it might jeopardises this new job I've got since, legally, I'm not allowed to travel etc. (2020 is such a banger, huh?) It all sounds so serious, but — I'm just informing this to let everyone know that I might not be available to update this weekly, as I had been previously.
> 
> The updates might come bi-weekly, which meant this will be updated every two weeks. On the side note, I feel really, really lost in the sense that I wanted to inform a lot of you that I've been working on the characters / stories / plots, so you guys will know that I'm not recklessly dropping the story etc but ... I have nowhere to contact you outside of AO3? Ridiculous. So, I'm definitely planning to launch a twitter, which I've never operated before (god, I'm gonna screw this up, huh?), just so I could dump all original ideas on there. Cause yes, other than this fic, I've been eyeing to do some webtoon buuuuut we'll see (*/▽＼*)
> 
> Until then, I'm contactable via tumblr: [@maariarogers](https://maariarogers.tumblr.com/). I'm not superbly active on it anymore, cause again, I have other responsibilities than when I first started the account _years_ ago and my attention just shifted away, but! If you have any questions or theories to discuss, feel free to hit me up there (´｡• ω •｡`) ♡
> 
> OK WOW... THIS HAS BEEN A LOT... Without further ado, the story.
> 
> Previously: We've established with Georgiana that Benjamin was meant to be House Bartlett's heir. Everybody is adjusting to this news. Georgiana, in return for tutoring her half-brother, decides to take up swordsmanship. Prince Damian is easy on the eyes, with a mysterious and dark past which has caused Georgiana to be on alert with him. There is possibly a spy in the House — but who could it be? And now we're venturing into the next adventure of our young villainess as Georgiana goes to a ball, makes some new friends, and... encounter future foes?
> 
> Edited HEAVILY: October 13 2020.

True to what is expected, the weeks leading to the banquet were hectic.

All the noblemen and civilians alike are abuzz with it.

Newspapers come in: reporting the activity from the decoration to the food and to the workers in the South attempting their best to welcome the crowd of the elites. The elites in question in return write to one another: younger girls gossip and poke over dresses and the eligible young men to ogle, the boys write to their beloved in anticipation to meet, while older people scam to have a minute or two with the more influential people on the floor while the ball is on-going.

Georgiana is not exempted from this.

Again, this year, she writes to Demetria Abbas how Mother would stay behind. _It is such a shame, you must understand, it isn’t like Mother means to miss such an event,_ her writing is cursive, and slightly more curled around certain alphabets. _But the travel is so far, and Father is so ever worried._

She isn’t exactly lying.

Mother isn’t so fond of long travels, that much is true, but lately she has been missing breakfast in return for vomiting her dinner in an empty bowl every time she wakes. When Georgiana visited her only yesterday, Mother swept her hair behind gently and waved the worry away, though she is paler than usual. Georgiana ever so wishes that it's merely the lack of make-up that has her thought of so.

She knows it is not.

“Go,” Mother has insisted, smiling so lovingly, “Have fun. The dress you asked for came, hadn’t it?”

It did, and it’s a marvellous dress indeed. It is light green, almost blue. The colour, Willow claims, reminding her of the lake she would swim in with her siblings when they were little. It brings such great memories, Willow says, oh yes it is very pleasing to the eyes, Little Lady.

Georgiana also answers letters asking for her arrival.

 _We shall depart, I believe, just in time for us to be settled a few days in Uthen’s Point before the Banquet begins_ , she would answer, hoping she is vague enough upon the information she's given that she will not be swarmed so immediately once she has arrived. Vultures, after all, all of them, even though Georgiana knows their intentions are simply. They only ever meant to impress, the girls and young ladies of the court alike.

Still, Georgiana prefers having _some_ time to herself to adjust in the South once they've arrived.

“You’re too nervous,” Georgiana tells her half-brother, the dark crimson of his hair catching light—for once, blinding her from the redness of it all. It is like the brightest of red roses, the hair, yet the terrifying colour of blood all at once. She wonders, from an outsider’s point of view, if she looks the same.

“I’ve never been further than the Capitol," Benjamin answers - halfway between chewing on his own lips, and frowning harshly at the sun.

“Nonsense. Father brought you to Winlov before.”

“Yes,” his expression darkens. “That trip hadn’t exactly gone well.”

Georgiana’s mouth opens around a question, wanting to ask whether he’d reacted as he did due to the weather Winlov is known for—which is devastatingly cold, and would cause any newcomers, as rumours go, to be put-off by it if not properly warned—or he'd been frowning because of the treatment she’d expected him to have endured. She couldn’t get to, though. Ask Benjamin to clarify, that is.

Mother approaches.

“Benjamin,” Mother’s voice is quiet, a gentle firm thing in contrast to Georgiana’s own demanding one. On her expression, though eyes squinting close from the heat of the sun, she maintains a smile. Like this, in her yellow dress, she looks the epitome of what all the noble ladies wish they could be: femininely soft and so ever motherly. For a moment, even the traces of whatever sickness she's plagued with, disappears. Mother looks handsome. “Keep away from the sun or you’ll burn.”

“O-of course, mother.” His words are automatic, his posture snapping into a stiff stance just as his gaze drops to the floor.

Mother says nothing back, her smile pursed. As if she, too, is unsure how she ought to act.

“You’ll be safe, won’t you?” Mother croons at her the moment Georgiana catches her hand, relieved, Georgiana could see, from being able to escape that few seconds of tension.

“Only if you will, Mother,” she responds.

Mother smiles, earnest, pushing her hair back gently, and they go on like that: standing close to one another, discussing bits and pieces of what to expect once Father, Benjamin and her are in the South. Mother mentions briefly the food, Georgiana ponders over souvenirs she could bring back home, and then Father, still fixing a button of his coat as he mounts the stairs to where their coach is, announces that they must go.

Last farewells exchanged, they leave.

The journey to the South has taken them approximately eight days before they arrive.

Despite the initial nervousness displayed, Benjamin grows lax during those days. He seems to enjoy the environment of travelling. That, or his curiosity has taken strongly to his otherwise quiet nature. Father, surprisingly, indulges her half-brother. Each question Benjamin dares ask, Father answers easily; his tone a generous mixture of pride and pleasantness.

Standing side-by-side as they often did during the journey whenever they’ve made a stop, it becomes eerie the similarity they share.

If it wasn’t for the slight slant to Benjamin’s jaw and the darker skin he’s sported, he’d been Father’s exact copy.

 _The known characteristics of Bartlett—this red hair, silver eyes and formidable strength—just as Northcotts were famous for their exceedingly pale skin akin to marble, the Saab for their swift intellect with hair greying signifying the knowledge they’ve obtained, the Eagler for their enhanced hearing and smelling abilities, and the Royal Family to be marked with golden, brilliant hue for their eyes, as if to reflect Vince The Just’s absolute sacrifice for brighter days_.

The other Great Houses came with their own notable inherited features as well, though it wasn’t as prominent.

And then, there was the Main Character, who will swiftly walk into their lives marked the age of fifteen with eyes that were said to be the bluest of blue.

If the descendent of Vince had been the reflection of beaming light, reminiscent of the power he had been aided by, the Main Character’s gaze was the calming blue sky and sea after the victory: the true colour of the peace that the citizens of Westria strived for. Nothing had looked better together.

 _Yes, that was one of the dialogues, wasn’t it?_ Georgiana thinks sombrely, just as whatever layers of dress she’s wearing thins out the longer they ride south.

Willow, and two other experienced maids who have tagged along, sleep and snore and play cards with her until one of the knightsmen outside knock, only to inform that they’re close to arrive.

A former place of administration, the Gallant Start is a massive ground for both a palace and a fort. It isn’t surprising to immediately take note of the high walls and the ancient architecture. She could see, easily, how the Kingdom could begin here. Out of all the palaces and steadfast she’s visited, certainly Gallant Start is one of the few which has, at that point of arrival, overwhelmed her so quickly.

“Do you wonder if the Prince may have arrived, my Little Lady?” asks Lucille, a young maid, freckled, her front row teeth stacking on top of one another.

“I wonder the same,” Georgiana replies with a smile, which, expectedly, sets off a chain of giggles and light shoves in the carriage.

The time of arrival for the Royal Family is a private information shared usually between the House to which they are expected to greet, and the Royal Family themselves—up until the few hours they arrive. Even then, it was only because the Royal Family are a travelling group that isn't hard to miss. Often time, they come with a show: fancy horses and even fancier carriages. With the lack of an uproar, and no other news to come through the little window delivered by the knightsmen, Georgiana assumes there are still time till Prince Damian graces Gallant Start with his presence.

In the end though, she supposes, it doesn't matter.

They will meet soon, the Prince and her, as they are surely expected; as they do every year.

They would enter the ballroom hand-in-hand and have their first dance with one another.

 _I have the chance, hopefully, to roam down the ballroom once I arrive. Perhaps I'll bring Benjie along if Father shan't have any excuse to prevent me_. In her mind, Georgiana is already planning to see how the venue shall look; what steps she ought to avoid. It wouldn’t do, after all, if she would trip or somehow fall when she was in the Prince’s arms. No, never mind that, if she should fall _ever_. What would they say of her? What would that reflect of her family?

Such is the life of a future High Queen.

 _What a waste_ , Georgiana sighs. _All of these precautions, when I’m either doomed to leave or die._

No. Being disheartened would not do. She's gone through this: just because she’s been made known of what’s to become of her, this does not give her the chance to behave any less of a Lady than she was expected to. House Bartlett’s name lies with everything she does and with every word she speaks; Benjamin is still so young and still so slow yet to take up the mantle and uphold their reputation should she slips or happens upon a mistake.

The arrival is tedious, but customary.

The room she’s been given is sufficient, she supposes; though the old walls with dark stones and barely-there windows scare her enough that she’s requested all her handmaids to spend the nights and sleep with her. Thankfully, there hasn’t been much fuss regarding that. She’s been told later that even Benjamin has decided to sleep in the same room as Father.

“It’s large enough anyways,” Benjamin informs her later, just as she’s managed to dodge Father’s disapproving scowl and drag her half-brother to where she suspects the Banquet would be held. “Father says there isn’t a need to give me a separated room.”

 _Or he’s just afraid Benjamin would be put together along with the stable boys and the cook’s apprentices._ After all, nothing could ever be guaranteed when it comes to bastards. It goes back to the query she couldn't ask quickly enough a mere week ago. Winlov, territory of House Northcott, were among the territories which were known for its harsh treatments towards bastards, claimed or unclaimed. Not being able to inherit their noble parent's titles and lands aside, some of them would not even be allowed the simplest of education nor any decent unemployment in these regions.

Most of them starve, left to a state of poverty and die.

 _Such a dark reality in contrast to the virtual game I remember_ , Georgiana notes. Yet, it is the truth.

Though she supposes it's moot saying anything of it now. Especially when one considers how Benjamin seems distracted by the change of scene to properly keep up his aloof appearance and, therefore, a lot more tolerable than normal. For once, they seem to be getting along without sniping at each other so much.

Georgiana takes this moment to consider Benjamin's previous fear.

The fear of the rich. Or rather, the fear of the privilege. _Was this why he was so stubborn?_ _No. Was this why he was so defensive? Because he was scared?_

More than the simple bullying, Benjamin must've had known, all this time, that any legal system in existence do not favour him. He had survived, only, by Father's good will; and even then, it was a stretch to assume so. With Father absent so much, Benjamin might as well have been another bastard left to the street.

Georgiana feels a wave she suspects are empathy, before she's hardened, rather quickly, by her stubborn pride.

Must she apologise, she wonders. Or would Benjamin rather she not, for it obviously would have instantly changed the whole mood. Worse, it would’ve scared Benjamin back and possibly further into his shell. He would be suspicious of her, and maybe that would've brought the both of them back in the beginning.

Georgiana could feel the beginning of a headache, so she decides to stop thinking of the subject altogether.

For now, she chooses to preserve this time.

Benjamin is young still. She, as well. Maybe it is true that she will not be able to truly save him from the misfortune of being treated simply from the birth and circumstances he could not prevent, but she could help him now, couldn't she? Yes. He could be an excellent Great Lord, the Lord Father has wagered on when he decided to house Benjamin in. She will not disappoint Father, and she will not disappoint this half-brother of hers, even if it means, in the end, that he must hate her for she has no intention on being fair nor kind towards the one woman who had represented her absolute doom. Her death flag.

Roaming Gallant Start, Georgiana and Benjamin begin a chase.

Dutifully following each other's shadows in an attempt to catch it, before they slow down, enraptured by the view or painting or other, and then slipping away again, running past the servants and guests alike, giggling and scowling when one of them are too slow and lost.

Once they’ve gotten their fair share of viewing the hall—that is, before they were interrupted by who Georgiana assumes is the Gallant Start’s head butler—both of them move to the scene outside. The old building is miraculously built perched atop a hill, which makes the view fascinating: just seeing miles and miles of houses and patches of forest before it was swallowed up by the horizon, and they there were, at the highest peak, looking down and far.

Georgiana could almost imagine being one of the noblemen when Westria came to be: how they would gather here like this, staring at the land they’ve fought hard to save.

How proud they must’ve been; how majestic.

Soon, Benjamin insists they go to the nearest training ground.

“What?” Georgiana protests snootily, “You think there’d be knights flinging their swords about when everybody’s so busy having this banquet prepared?”

It’s received with a short shrug, Benjamin promptly showcasing that familiar streak of stubbornness. One Georgiana has learnt they both must’ve had instilled deep in their blood for it appears persistently in all known Bartletts so far. A slight slap of irritation aside, Georgiana knows whatever activity that will follow the rest of the week is likely something routined and mandatory. Robbing her unapologetically of this very few freedom she has to simply walk around without necessarily being under anybody’s close scrutiny. Which, now that she's experiencing it, isn't quite that bad.

So, she grunts, just a bit of indignation following in that action—but follows Benjamin to where he thought he’d heard the training grounds are at.

Her bastard brother seems as if he doesn’t mind her shadowing either way, head bobbing and his feet strangely steady as well as quick as they go against the current of people that are going _into_ the old castle. Some are pulling up carpets on large wooden carts, some are yelling about orders of meat, insisting that it isn’t enough. It’s loud, boisterous. Children, really, that they were—coming to the twinned age of thirteen together soon—nobody gives them a glance.

The sense of anonymity, just simply tracking the back of Benjamin’s head, feels thrilling to a point.

Nobody notices her. _Nobody cares to_.

Soon, they come across the promised large training ground. As much as every staff member was busy, Georgiana was proven wrong. Even by the huge archway entry, she can see herds of knights and squires alike are still about, sheathing their swords and swinging them on dummies; or on one another. They come forward, their weapons clang and the owners breathing harshly with each excessive movement, but the training goes on.

There aren’t a lot, not what Georgiana would expect from such a known Great House with this much land to cover, which suggests a few things.

One, the majority of the knights are already dispensed to guard the perimeter. Two, the ones that were left are spending what time they’ve got until their duties begin to train in order to protect such esteemed guests during such an important event.

Benjamin and her walk forward.

In an instant, it’s easy to distinguish the both of them than the ones who are actively training, and the staff who are using the ground to cross over from one building to another. Georgiana, after all, is still in her bright-coloured gown, with the patterns of gold flowers embedded at the edges of her skirt, easily setting her apart from the majority of the people there. Benjamin, on the other hand, shed off of his outer coat, is still with his fairly expensive vest. They stand out, here, right now.

In return, a few knights turn their heads.

Finally, Georgiana notes this with a deliberate sense of expectancy: she’s noticed.

Benjamin, surprisingly, doesn’t particularly take this in. Either he hasn’t quite registered the attention yet, or he’s too absorbed of the large field and whatever sporting equipment it has readied for its armed troop, Georgiana isn’t sure. She’s wagering on the latter, though.

He stops at one point.

Georgiana has been staring at passing cats — two of them, one a rich grey in colour, the other an astonishing hue of white — near the drains when she realises this. Her eyes follow what must’ve captured Benjamin’s gaze. She suspects a brilliant sword or some known Knight she only has flickering recognition of has caught his focus, and has stumped him into a state of speechless astonishment. The boy has always been fond of knightly tales and bedtime stories. She is wrong.

There, in front of them, a few feet away, stands Edward Northcott.

The Northern Prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm saying this now: I HEARD Y'ALL WHEN Y'ALL SAY YOU WANT EDWARD (⁄ ⁄>⁄ ▽ ⁄<⁄ ⁄)
> 
> Are you guys sure you're ready for what's to come? Lol.
> 
> Again, just a summary of the MOUNTAINS of words I've spilled above: due to time constraint and private matters, this fiction is updating every two weeks. I'm planning to start a twitter where we can all geek about original characters (and hell yeah, you guys can hit me with yours), but until then, I am accessible via tumblr [@maariarogers](). So, please FEEL FREE to just bombard me with questions / theories / whatever, if you do have them!
> 
> In the next chapter: we get to know who Edward Northcott is. Georgiana is not reacting as splendidly as she expected she would. See you all soon!


	16. The Northern Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we begin anything, I'd like to thank everyone who's still reading, liking, bookmarking, leaving kudos etc (⁄ ⁄>⁄ ▽ ⁄<⁄ ⁄) like ahhhh I'm so honoured that y'all are still along for the whole ride! We're almost half-way through the story (or at least, we are, in the timeline I have in mind), so I'm super hype to see what everyone thinks as the plot thickens.
> 
> I also know I said I'd be updating this bi-weekly but... well. That still hasn't changed! But I'm just so excited for this chapter that I decided, upon this fiction return from hiatus, I might as well do a back-to-back (weekly) update as a celebration, before returning to the initial schedule! I hope you guys enjoy Edward's introductions as much as I had a blast coming up with him and, eventually, writing him down.
> 
> In the last chapter, I did a _major_ editing because I found I wrote some parts chunky and I was like, "What the hell was I doing not noticing that?" lol so do give that a read again if you haven't!
> 
> And fiiiiiinaallyyyyyy!!!! If you wanna know some updates here and there, some progress of the story, I have a twitter now ( [@bellabaratheon](https://twitter.com/bellabaratheon) )! I also have some sketches I'm planning to share, and I'm thinking of publishing some drafts I've got, maybe some ideas I couldn't use, and if you'd like to talk about your original ideas / fandom ideas together, hit me up!!! I'd love to just chat with a lot of you ♡♡♡
> 
> Enough with that, let's get back to what's sizzling.
> 
> Previously: It's summer, and the Grand Banquet is about to begin. Georgiana and Benjamin arrive in Uthen's Point (in the South) and Georgiana contemplates Benjamin's state of bastardy. While walking around, they stumble on a familiar face, Edward Northcott.

Edward Northcott.

Georgiana’s heart is immediately in her throat, and whatever sense of security she has in the company of her half-brother is gone. The third man who could potentially have her murdered years from now, in the flesh. There ought to be some thunders in the air, some effects to foreshadow the bad fate, but the day remains mediocre. Dull, even.

Swords are still clashing in the background, castle staff moving about all around them.

Despite permanently carrying the stature of someone of a high status, Edward Northcott does not look misplaced in the training grounds. With the safety garbs on—light armour on his chest and legs—Edwards looks the opposite of Benjamin. That is, wherein her half-brother is obviously still in a decorative suit, Edward is perfectly fitted for a day out in the grass and mud. On one of the belts, Georgiana recognises insignia of House Northcott.

Though the insignia itself couldn't be larger than the size of a dollar coin, the presence of it is prominent: broadcasting to anyone who would dare doubt his identity that he is indeed an important Lord’s son.

Edward stares at the both of them, wiping away a sweat while he does, and smiles.

The action seems deliberate, or at least the slow speed of it does.

It has the purposeful pace of a predator circling its prey: how these dangerous creatures would bide their time; how they would sink their claws in just when their preys least expect them too. Georgiana shivers at the comparison.

Edward, in the meantime, approaches.

On his face, he continues to wear the smile. Like this, without honestly knowing who he is, Georgiana could describe his face as enticingly charming and adoringly soft; in a way that soft petals of a dandelion could be charming, or a freshly dried bed sheet were soft. Unlike the absolute warmth Prince Damian exudes, Edward emits a cool persona to those he comes to. He appears approachable in a way that he's relaxed, unattached—delicate, even, if one forgets the tedious tradition in the North wherein young boys were always expected to be precise and brutal in the cold.

_The Northern Prince_ , they call him.

Or - they would call him later in life but only for his beauty; only for his infamous and tireless seduction of women; the way he could please a crowd with false promises and they are aware of it. Falling, regardless.

Even now, it's difficult to believe that a person could come with so many pessimistic details - especially not with such graceful features like that. The pale hair, the soft cheeks, and the preciously aligned eyelashes fluttering with each blink. Even the upturn tilt to his lips, that smile, it is all so dainty, these actions. He's too beautiful to be anything but a highly precious and well-kept porcelain doll, really; but he isn't.

Georgiana knows, more than anyone, Edward isn't.

“If it isn’t the _Princess_ ,” The young Lord of the North might as well hiss for all the venom that Georgiana could hear in his tone. Venomous, yes, but only in her ears. Outwardly, Edward maintains the soft lift to his voice, upholding the illusion of politeness when it is obvious that the interaction is the absolute opposite. To the naked eye, he is harmless; another Lord professing a greeting. “And the, ah, _forbidden_ _love child_.”

Benjamin, besides her, is rigid.

For a moment, she's recalls a mythical northern beast that were known for its ability of laying its victims cascaded in thick layers of ice with just one mighty breath blown to them. How these monsters lived in the mountains, how they could blend well with the wind and the snowy caves. Edward is alike the beast now: one acknowledgement, and Benjamin stands frozen. It's honestly absurd, if Georgiana too isn't feeling the slight effect from it.

And how curious it is — to feel this affected.

She suddenly couldn't recall how she'd reacted when she first saw Benjamin after knowing what she'd known. How about Prince Damian, who is elusive to the point of having to constantly tip-toe around the boy? Had she been this guarded? Yes. Of course she would be. But... has she ever felt this - _threatened?_

Edward, on the other hand, seems thrilled by this response: this _shock_ Georgiana must wear, the tense _quietness_ and _obedience_ Benjamin must’ve learned adopting as an automatic response to anyone who mocks his legitimacy. The young Northcott heir takes another step, his sword—a glinting grey thing—follows his movements. His smile never ceases.

“If I had known you were to arrive," Edward begins, his tone sounds so impeccably peaceful; soft, even when the meaning is not. "I’d ready my best dress. I’d bow down at the very gate you arrive. I wonder, would you prefer having your feet kissed with or without the shoes, Milady?”

Georgiana’s fingers twitch with an urge to slap that smirk right from that face.

She thinks she ought to be shocked, surprised by the sudden onslaught of such an abruptly cruel meet, but Edward—the few encounters she’s had with him, critically sparse as it may have been—were never truly pleasant.

In the memories of her past life, across the small screen of the machine, Edward was always marketed as the womaniser among the four choices of men. _It’s a common trope_ , she recalls now with a slight distaste at the back of her throat, _an expected one, with the genre of the game being what it is_.

Edward is supposed to be flirtatious: with just enough edge of ridiculous boldness that borders on insensitivity, even aggression, due to his sharp tongue. His brutal honesty—a known trait, oftentimes celebrated—was jarring at times, especially when they’re delivered with that beautiful smile. Viewing it now, it is as if Edward's always stuck in his portrayal of the flirt, when he holds nothing but ruthless bitterness towards the world.

It is miraculous how, one sentence, though often soft-spoken by him, could cut to the heart of any matter without necessarily sparing anyone else’s feelings.

Perhaps he serves as a contrast to the naive and rose-coloured Main Character. That would be the challenge, wouldn't it?

Breaking through his icy and cynical heart, transforming what once was a chameleon-type character into someone who is undeniably loyal to you.

Yes, Georgiana could see how that may come across an alluring, bearing the responsibility of "saving" some boy; playing a huge part on his good, or better decisions. She could hardly remember how she'd take the trope in, in that past life of hers; how she had reacted towards the gameplay. Perhaps she'd been enamoured by it; thrilled by what Edward Northcott has in store as he changes from the womaniser everyone knows him for, to the man who would be undoubtedly true to the Main Character. In this life right now, however, Georgiana feels nothing but contempt for the young boy.

She knows his sort. It is the, _if I cannot have a happy life, then no one else should_ , sort.

Edward Northcott is selfish; cruel from an unhappy childhood to which he holds everybody responsible for.

Although unlike Georgiana Bartlett—who is doomed for villainy—he is meant to be _saved_ by the Main Character.

It is possible that, in another life, they could've gotten along well, Edward and her, Georgiana thinks.

He's not all too bad, in all honesty. In this other life, mayhaps she'd find him thrilling. The back-and-forth fuelling her to think quicker, to act sharper. She believes she would provide the same attention for Edward if that were true. In that dreary life he's led, she could be the constant he would always crave for. The one person, despite his bad manners, who would not only encourage him, but stands by the behaviour. They would have made an amusing couple, being vile together.

Alas, this is not that life.

They were never destined to get along. Not since the first time she’d smiled tightly at his fake, charming act, and he had caught on that she wasn’t interested no matter how long he’d played up the innocent front. Ever since, Edward seems stuck wanting to be cruel but having to maintain whatever charade he’s put himself through; a sadist forced to perform the mechanism of a saint.

_How tiring_ , Georgiana thinks blankly.

And it is this thought, this simple conclusion of character, that has her gather her bearings once more. Georgiana is no longer caught off-guard. This is the confrontation now - she must see it through the end.

“I’d rather neither,” She haughtily manages, crossing her arms across her chest, unimpressed. “So desperate for my arrival. My, my, Edward. Have _Daddy_ neglected you again?”

Edward’s calm expression gives away to a slight twitching near the mouth.

Though there’s a slight victory in knowing she caused that, Georgiana mostly only feels as if time spent here any longer is redundant. It’s clear to her, compared to whatever pieces of memory her throbbing head is conjuring, that he is still years too early to honestly become a _threat_.

In the written journal she’d kept locked up concerning her dooming fate, all of the capture targets were almost adults.

They had broad shoulders and deep voices.

With Benjamin and Prince Damian, it’s easy to dismantle those images quickly considering the frequency to which she meets them. It was otherwise difficult to suddenly swallow the fact that Edward and Micah, like her, is still a child. They are both still very much growing, alongside the rest of the known characters in the dreadful game she has subjected herself to in her past life.

Thirteen year olds, in fact; known famously, do they not, for their lankiness and awkward adjustment into the pubescent age?

Yes, indeed. Different from the image she’s got of him in her head, Edward has yet to grow into his height, barely towering over Georgiana and Benjamin’s own. His famous lilac hair is surprisingly short, brushing only by his jawline when she’d been seeing it longer in whatever fragments of her past life that she holds close. It was always long, falling over his shoulders, that hair of his—and yet, instantly, Georgiana is aware: _it isn’t time yet_.

Currently, Edward Northcott is nothing more than a boy.

A spiteful boy, certainly - but a boy nonetheless.

_Surely_ , she thinks with a sharp intake of air, _there are better things to attend to than to argue with one._

Still, Georgiana finds she could not help herself.

“I couldn’t quite catch the latest gossip,” She adds. Part of her who is pompous, who loathes being challenged at and backing down without putting in a word, sway in eagerness. Oh, what other emotions could she pull from this Northern Prince other than that sham of a smile? To pull out such a raw reaction, to uncover the obnoxious nature and drag it into the sun — Georgiana shivers just by the mere thought. “Which women has Great Lord Northcott brought over this time? Someone from the region? Or perhaps a Southerner? Do regale me so I may be prepared should I ever need to say my greetings.”

A blank face, as if Edward's been thrown a punch and had forgotten how to act - before he soothes his face into a sickening improvised smile, insincere.

His skin pale as any Northerners were known to be however, it’s excitingly quick to catch colour. Especially under the intense heat of the South. From Georgiana’s vintage point, she could see his cheeks and ears are beginning to soak in a furious shade of red. The boy himself remains impassive, his character polite while he lightly retorts: “I assure you, Milady, Father attended the Banquet unattached."

Just before a reply could be executed, Edward continues. "I couldn't say the same to you, could I? It's a shame to see a Great House having had to dirty their travelling company with a… what do they call it these days? Oh, that’s right, _a name-leecher_.”

Georgiana breathes right through her nose.

She tries not to glance over to where Benjamin stands with a stillness of a wooden beam. _Name-leecher._ Ah! Until father could properly legitimise Benjamin, there isn’t much retort Georgiana could produce without making it seem like she’s favouring her brother excessively. She couldn’t afford, firstly, for any of the people she knew to be suspicious if she'd defended him.

Secondly, it would tarnish her reputation if she speaks so well of Benjamin without allowing him to advance or somehow prove his worth first. In whatever shape or form it may take. It may have her look as if she’s biased, inhabiting a streak for favouritism just because they’ve shared half of Father’s blood.

People could take advantage of that.

Worse, they could condemn her for it.

And time for condemnation hasn’t yet arrived. That would be during the Academy years. It also certainly wouldn’t be over _Benjamin_.

_Benjamin_ , Georgiana thinks sombrely, who could defeat famous knights and outmanoeuvres the best fighters without breaking a sweat, but turned tight-lipped and stupid in front of some hot-headed nobleson. There’s still so much to teach him, then. She must be quick.

Or just prepare a better way to have the lessons stuck.

_Gods, there will be time to think about these things_ later _, Georgiana._ It must the appearance of a new capture target, or the heat of the Summer weather beating down on the Southern state, because she could feel something in her chest tightens, her palms sweating despite her effort to stay calm.

_Am I really running out of time?_

_No._

_I will live._

_Again, repeat it: I will live._

“Haven’t you got any other insults than to target the boy, Edward?”

Edward has his chin tilts up. He stares her down.

Georgiana hasn’t quite gotten it — to an extent, she supposes she understood the basics. The reason, that is, why Edward dislikes her. She suspects, the clashes in behaviour aside, it all reflected back to his own family background. How he’d grown up, an only son to Great Lord Hale Northcott and Great Lady Cecilia, and how he’d adored his mother up until she passed away. The story went that there was always suspicion of it being poison as the cause, or a magical curse, but unfortunately, it was never confirmed.

In the Original Timeline, Edward tried latching on to his absent father for years after his mother’s death.

He wanted to believe his mother’s loving declaration towards Hale Northcott was true: every excellent deed his father has done was always for the greater good, every precise decision his father has made was meant to ensure their territory thrived. He wanted to believe that it was all so fantastic, this man his mother loved, a figure to admire so highly even when Father was always so taken with his busy schedules. In his late mother’s eyes, there was no better person to marry and have a family with. _She had loved Edward’s father so much_.

Not three months after her mother’s death, Edward—aged seven and helpless—caught his father with one of his nursemaids, naked and panting, in his father’s study.

A few months after that, a noble lady came to visit. The noises could be heard from the hallway.

One year later, it was a married woman Her makeup stained father for days. He’d been irritated by it.

The kind man, the husband, who tended to Edward the whole evening when he found him crying as he escaped his irritating governess, stopped looking at Edward in the eyes. After a while, the husband never came around at all.

Rumours have it that Hale Northcott had twenty-some bastards, all unrecognised and went on without acknowledgement.

What was it, Georgiana wonders, that Edward truly envies of her: the fact that she is doted by her father, that she has a living mother, or that the adoration extends - however awkward - towards her half-brother, who doesn’t, in the eye of law, even share father’s last name, when Edward had to scrape by with Great Lord Hale’s known indifference and distant mannerism? It must be one of those, if not all.

“Why?” Edward’s eyes become hooded, “Would you rather I pay attention to _you_ then, Princess?”

_Oh Gods, help her._

Georgiana rolls her eyes. “Behave yourself, My Lord.”

Edward smirks, huffing a little. Then, softly, fiddling with the nicer patterns on his sword’s grip, she hears: “Heartless as ever, I see.”

Georgiana could _feel_ , rather than see, her vision bleeding red. _Heartless_. That’s right, she bitterly snaps inwardly: how could Edward have known? How could he have predicted her villainous debut? Georgiana feels like laughing, though the feel of it is likened, she believes, to knives and nails climbing up her throat. It hurts. She doesn’t think she’s fully breathing.

_Heartless_.

Was that why Edward would have her killed when they’re much older?

A new cloud of headache rushes in her head. Georgiana wonders why she hasn't buckled by such a severe force.

"It is quite humorous, I must admit," She could hear Edward continues - but it sounds like an echo of a voice. He seems so far away. "So long after House Bartlett hid him away, finally the hybrid runs about. Tell me, my dearest Lady. Do you treat your bastard well?"

Georgiana swallows. When the words come out, she fears it may have spilled with a strain. A hesitancy. "You're grotesque."

Edward laughs: a tinkling sound, harmless. "I believe half the court ladies would disagree."

"Half the court ladies are blind of your true character, Milord."

"Ah," Edward's voice is sweet. "Unlike our enchanting Lady Georgiana of House Bartlett, surely. No, it seems Milady Princess figured me out."

"Rather than that, I am exhausted of you."

"Yet, you have not walked away." Edward swings his sword upwards, touches the steel. For a moment, Georgiana feels her breath shatters inside her throat. The fear from those flashback of memories catching up to her. Edward-long-haired Edward, with his hair tied low behind him, his uniform pristine from a day meant for celebration-swinging the Blessed Sword and right into her—"Oh my, _Princess_ , you're pale."

And Edward smirks - beautiful, but Georgiana sees anything but.

"It's the weather, I suppose. The sun is relentless here in Uthen's Point. In Winlov, it is fond of hiding away." Edward sounds wistful. And then, to Benjamin who is still standing so distastefully still, "Do you not agree, bastard?"

Georgiana shakes her head.

This isn't the time to worry about her disappointing brother.

“I suppose you are right, My Lord.” she attempts somehow, though she’s certain she's turned to stone. She certainly feels like it. How could she be moving? She must not. She couldn’t be. She’s stunned silly— _how could she allow Edward to insult her so simply? How is she letting this slide?_ —and instantaneously, Georgiana wants nothing more than to see the familiar face of her father. Or - or Willow. _Anybody_. She's had enough of sight-seeing today. She wants the comfort of the people who actually desires her, even if it's temporary. But, just as the injury of falling down the horse was harsh, the next realisation comes just as guttural.

Nobody saves the Villainess.

Georgiana feels all hope leaves her body. For a second, she considers laughing out loud, from shock. From numbness. From the helplessness of it all. But she'd known this all along, hadn't she? She'd known that there was little option for her in terms of survival. By the time she realises what she realised, most of the damage has been done. She'd been mean to Benjamin, she'd objectified the Prince, and she didn't care for Edward. 

She was already on her way to the destined fate: to her death. All she was left to do was to ride it out and, if it goes well, she could disappear.

There was never a Prince Charming to her rescue, not even a maid she could honestly trust lest she's exposed.

_Villainess_ , she inwardly grunts. _Such are their woes._

“I shall take this heartless body of mine, as you've called it, and excuse it.” Georgiana curtsies, mechanical. She turns, knowing without truly witnessing the expression of triumph glinting in Edward’s russet-coloured eyes, as her feet move back from where she has entered.

She believes she hears Benjamin’s voice interrupting. Either it’s to call her, or to finally speak a word with Edward, Georgiana isn’t sure.

She’s gone before she could articulate it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm..... so. Are we disappointed with Edward? Or are we intrigued? Do we think Benjamin should've reacted better? Tell me your thoughts! (¬‿¬ )
> 
> In any case, thank you so much for the read!
> 
> I've recently launched a twitter (my first time operating one r.i.p. me) so do check it out because I'm planning to primarily post updates on Villainess' Woes and other original / fandom ideas I've found myself lunging into as I, too, navigate this messy jungle we call 2020. My twitter handle is [@bellabaratheon](https://twitter.com/bellabaratheon) and I can't wait to interact with a lot of you ヽ(♡‿♡)ノ
> 
> In the next chapter: the ball starts. A royal drama stirs. Damian comes back into the picture, and he and Georgiana have a little chat. See you guys soon!


	17. The Grand Banquet II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: we encountered Edward and... the interaction isn't friendly.
> 
> In this chapter, Damian comes back. The Grand Banquet starts.

There isn’t much time left to think about it.

 _After_ , that is.

Of course, she still finds herself hearing the words spat back right at her like a phantom eager for its whispered pleas to grace the living. _Heartless as ever_ , Edward had sneered in his too-soft tone that could almost be mistaken for a mindless murmur. Although quickly — far too quickly — just as she has had to work through whatever onslaught of panic she fears her body will face, the matter settles. Her mind quietens, finding its short peace somehow, kicking the whole scenario entirely under a metaphorical carpet where she's dusted all of her undiscussed issues to lie.

What's most important is that the event no longer leaves a shocking value.

In fact, it irate her.

She had always known that this was part of her future.

If she hadn’t geared up for it before, it was cemented clearly by whatever Gods that have cursed her with the knowledge of what’s to come in that confrontation with the so-called Northern Prince.

Certainly, Georgiana has always expected to be objectified at some point; to be ridiculed and questioned and looked down upon. There was an additional vision too, wasn’t it? Of the time when she’d evidently been isolated and abandoned by the society she thought would always welcome her back.

She knew this was going to happen.

Why had it mattered that some these setbacks happened a bit quicker than when she'd anticipated them to?

Perhaps Benjamin was correct, after all.

High society could be ridiculously cruel that way.

There is no time to properly lament on it, though. Georgiana made her resolution so long ago. She would play the part of a villainous if she must, of the vicious woman who obstructed the protagonist's journey and would then chase said-protagonist to be closer to any of the chosen men, but she would not be killed. With all the will and determination she could muster, she will ensure that she leaves Wisteria.

And this thought is what drives her to finally sleep: _I will live. I will live. I will leave._

The next day, she’s woken up in a displeasing state wherein she longs to climb back to bed, but knows, intimately, that duty waits upon her.

And duty, she studiously attends to.

There is breakfast in the morning. Just three hours before, she was forced into a tub full of ridiculously cold water; the experience somehow made pleasant only by the various outpouring of flowers she knows she wouldn't find anywhere in the Bartlett's territories. That, at least, gives her some moments to distract her mind as her body adjusts to the abnormally chilling temperature.

That routine is then followed by another hour - nearly two - of tending to her hair, make-up, and dressing. She's in a soft colour of green when she emerged; hair long, braided in the same flowers that was in her bath. It trails in gentle pinks and enticing purples.

After such tedious morning, Georgiana is glad for the moment to dine. She sits by Father’s side, and tries not to roll her eyes when Benjamin blinks owlishly at the huge spread across the long table.

Halfway through breakfast, it was announced that the Royal Family is finally joining them.

All the guests stand, customary. The horns blare: bouncing off from the walls of the large dining hall, the drums following suit. Everybody seems to be holding their breath, and not one person could be seen talking.

The door opens. 

Spilled from it, the High King, His High Majesty Luther.

And though the event from yesterday has slightly soured her experience further with the capture target, there is a bubbling anticipation at catching Prince Damian’s appearance. So much so, that she’s almost missed the slight murmur which is beginning to resurface among the thunderous sounds of drums and horns. Just by Georgiana’s right side, she could hear the wife from a noble family under House Vanderburgh whisper.

“It is true,” the hushed conversation goes, “The High Queen hasn’t joined us.”

Before a proper reply could be heard, two claps were given.

Once, to gather any stray attention. Second, so every nobleman in the room could synchronise their greeting to the Majesty and his family the moment the sound of the clap dissipates.

 _“Peace be the one who holds the sky,”_ All voice join together in complete unison.

High King Luther holds up his hand - gloved palm facing towards the guest, a gesture suggesting he’s welcomed the words.

The noblewife by Georgiana's side is correct, she notices immediately.

The High Queen _is_ absent.

Generally, it isn’t wrong nor unlawful for the Royal Family to not attend any banquet or large promised gathering, no matter how important these events would appear to be. It could be taken as a sign of breaking tradition, sure, but in the end, matters of the Palace and the state of the Kingdom were almost always more fundamental than any trivial chances at a mere party. It still happened so ever rarely though.

Georgiana could count on one hand of it ever occurring.

Most men and women of the court would not come to such reasoning so easily, though. None of them are too eager, of course, to truly topple any descendent of Vince the Just. Most of the people in court still thought it taboo; too fearful of what it means should there no longer be someone with the blood of Vince who had successfully bonded with the Light Spirit in the circle to keep the Kingdom afloat. This doesn't mean they won't pick on the opportunity to criticise any ruling member given the chance.

This, specially, could be a huge chance.

Yet, High King Luther stalks to his rightful place of dining without breaking a stance. His foot seemingly echoed even though there wasn’t any specific urgency in the steps. Behind him, just by his cape, Prince Damian follows.

Unlike his father, His High Majesty, Damian wears a permanently charming face: eyes bright and a smile constant as he nods to faces which he seems to recognise. With the lack of an absolute and one of the two highest crowns this morning, it is important, Georgiana supposes, that he maintains a fine reputation. Hence, the absolute contrast to High King Luther who stares ahead grimly, almost bored and unconcerned with the attention he's gathering.

Following behind the both of them, third to come and last to be made known in nearly all occasions which concerns the Imperial Family, were the King’s third wife. _Queen_ _Milla_ , Georgiana recites perfectly inside her head, staring at the slightly less extravagant woman marching dutifully behind, following the shadow of the two royal men ahead of her with this confidence that Georgiana knows are both trained into and were kept up only for the sake of appearances.

Reality is harsher: Queen Milla were often rumoured to be timid, and, gazing upon her now, it is not difficult to see that she is a lady one easily dismissed if one do not notice her upon the first glance.

 _It was why the King had decided on her, the poor lass,_ Georgiana picked up the gossip a few times. Noble girls and relaxed maids were often known for that: discussing tales that ought not to be repeated. And there were no tales, Georgiana supposes, worth repeating more than the ever pity tale of the High Queen for being barren and without the womanly ability to bear their High King his children. Replaced, instead, by some women the Council and the Church has to pick just to secure the royal lineage.

 _So that no one would stand out,_ y’see, the rumours would continue, _the third Queen,_ _not if she’s compared to our great High Queen. Aye, you know His Majesty loves her so. It’s such a shame Her High Majesty couldn’t bear his sons and daughters. Such a shame, indeed._

In Queen Milla’s left hand, she is holding onto the second prince, five-year-old Prince Albert. By her hip, two-year-old Prince Christa is sucking his thumb while observing what must’ve been a luxurious amount of people all around them. They seem frightened, almost; eyes wide and vigilant. Albert, in particular, stumbles a few times over his mother's skirt, held up only because Queen Milla almost always seem to anticipate this. She would pause in her steps, waits, and walks again.

Though overshadowed by High King Luther and the Crown Prince's entrance, Queen Milla, surprisingly, doesn’t falter.

She looks relieved to finally reach the table though, royal nursemaids hurrying to carry the Princes and help her arrange the boys until they’re at their correct places. It is only then, when the Royal Family, the whole lot of them who attended, are aligned by their seats and the High King dines that the rest of the people in the room are allowed to feast.

The chatter return back in full-force; kitchen utensils cling together against plates to make their usual noises.

With one final smile Georgiana catches Damian sends her, ever so polite yet invariably surprising, which oddly has her flustered and blushing, the breakfast moves on. Benjamin tastes wine and scrunches up his nose by what he’s sipped.

Both Father and her laugh, but only discreetly.

* * *

It is in the evening that’s highly anticipated.

Right after lunch, it seems that everyone’s been ushered for a long, drawn-out ritual of cleaning up and fitting into their dresses. All Lords and Ladies are to be requested immediately to have them ready, no matter what they’re doing. Even Father, busy with chats Georgiana knows he’s enjoying due to the loud rumbling laughter he wouldn’t share any other time, has to be whisked away. 

Georgiana isn’t spared.

Though then again, holding the position she currently has, she supposes it’s expected. It wouldn’t exactly be a perfect reflection of the Kingdom should its future High Queen were to be late or wear something shabby and dull.

_And yet, wasn’t it dullness that attracted the capture targets to the Main Character?_

Georgiana’s skull throbs with the familiar appearance of a headache, and she winces. _I suppose it isn’t the time to recall the future,_ she heeds whatever part of her that’s grown tired of being so spiteful and paranoid all the same. Though she has to wonder, would she have been a much better time right now without all these worries?

Certainly, it promises her death in the end — too early, in her opinion, for someone who has studied and worked so much — but would she be blushing along with her maids? Would she be laughing and telling Willow of her hopes and dreams that she’d conjure in an effort to impress and hope His Highness the Prince would find her appealing?

She used to write plans. Used to study the law and politics, the few that she could get her hands on, so fervently in hopes of a chance to not seem like she’s slacking should the issue be mentioned around Damian. She’d told Willow so shyly the one time that there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do to be his High Queen.

 _Now I know one thing which would contradict my past statement_ , she thinks just as she could feel Willow’s skillful fingers wind her hair with known precision. _I refuse to die._

“You’re not feeling well, Little Lady?” A maid, Clarissa, coos.

“Flutters in your head?” Willow quips from behind.

“No.” Georgiana assures them, smiles. “My head is full of thoughts.”

“Care to share them, Little Lady, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so?” Clarissa’s tone is light, eager. Willow swats at the maid’s shoulder, but the snickering that follows confirms to Georgiana that the both of them are only teasing.

“We all couldn’t wait to see you walking down the stairs and sharing that dance with the Prince, Milady.” Willow adds. She’s always been the supporter of Georgiana’s one-sided love story. She’s always rooting for her.

“The colour scheme this year’s pretty,” Lucille - the quieter maid with freckles - smooths a hand down the dress. “The designs you chose are lovely, Little Lady.”

“Do you think so?” Georgiana is pleased. Playing the part, she adds, “Do you think His Highness would like it?”

As if striking a button which would knowingly lead to an explosion, Willow, Clarissa and Lucille all yelp out their insistence. _Of course he would. There wouldn’t be a fine young man who would dare to say otherwise._ For a moment, Georgiana feels elated by the easy compliments she’s been given, though it turns insincere quickly at the thought of Edward Northcott, watching her, and knowing he holds nothing but contempt.

Years later, he will have the same expression whenever she enters a room.

Except this time, his conviction will grow stronger in the company of the Main Character, the object of infatuation who is being targeted by Georgiana herself.

It’s as if she’s been derailed suddenly by a theory she long suspected: that no matter what forgiving act she could do, whatever ways she finds herself atoning with, there was nothing to stop the fate that she will walk herself into. Edward, for example, has no true reason to be quite so unpleasant towards her — and yet yesterday’s event still happened.

It makes her wonder, for a second, if it was worth it sustaining the already fragile relationship she has with her half-brother. Or if she ought to put as much of an effort to become Prince Damian’s High Queen. Especially when the end-result is secure of the fact that she will still be hated.

 _I could be nice to the Main Character_ , she considers in the moment of weakness.

But no. That wouldn’t have guaranteed anything. Not the annulment of her engagement at one point, and certainly not the possession of her soul by the Dark Spirit. Who is to say that being nice and friendly to the Main Character would have her a fate without envy and jealousy and all of those ugly traits that would make her admirable to the forbidden arts?

She’d be damned either way if she would have to force herself to be amiable when the Main Character serves no purpose to Georgiana. In whatever sparse memories Georgiana is grasping at, the Main Character simply does not interest her nor appeal to her intellectually, physically or emotionally.

And Georgiana Bartlett is not one to plaster on a false smile to the one who would administer her murder.

It is this thought that she carries right when she was put in the same room with His Highness an hour later. She has barely registered the presence of Prince Damian entering the room if it weren’t for the way the door creaks when it opens. 

This used to be one of the most luxurious times she could ever hope for, back when she was still much smaller and pining for Damian’s attention. The hours between guests arriving into the Banquet and announcing the Prince and her fiancé to the dancing hall are typically long, so it would’ve provided her with this one undisturbed time of conversing with her intended.

Now, she wants nothing more but to be back in her own room away in the safety of the Bartlett estate.

She would have her Mother there, just a few doors if she ever needed her. She would have the familiarity of the land she grew up in, the view to which she learned by heart. She would recognise the duties to which the house staff were appointed to, know the scurrying heels and claps of maids or butlers reminding each other that there’s still much to do. She ought to spend time memorising every detail - one day, she’ll be without them.

Instead, she lets Damian press his mouth against her knuckles.

“Milady.”

Though it isn’t her intention, Georgiana feels her chest thunders. She’s forgotten the presence of him and how much he could easily overwhelm her. Even more so now that he’s dressed to the nines: the cape covering a shoulder, the insignia and medals of a royalty adorning his shirt. Gold and silver against the dark colour of teal. His hair pushed back, his black lashes standing out, highlighting the golden gaze he has, as he smiles, disarming. He’s stunning.

“Your Highness,” she murmurs.

“You’re lovely tonight.”

Georgiana feels her cheeks growing warm. When, she wonders, will she be over his easily charming words? Was it because he lacks the antagonistic drip that Edward seems to have? Or is it that he’s much better at hiding it? Georgiana isn’t sure. She’s just certain that Prince Damian couldn’t have held her this much high in regard.

Not truly; not when he, too, abandons her for the too-kind Main Character.

“Not as lovely as you,” She manages somehow, and watches the way Damian’s eyes narrow. As in disbelief; as in contempt. A small, easily noticeable act. It goes away the second it comes. If Georgiana had blinked, she would’ve missed it.

“You praise.” Damian releases her hand. “How have you been, Milady?”

For a while, they fill whatever minutes they have with that: small chats. Nothing more than what they’ve already discussed in the letters exchanged. Damian mentions again of the Palace’s garden, momentarily bringing up that he would take her on a walk there should she come by the Capitol. Georgiana discusses what little of her studies and her already known hobby to cook.

She tries waiting for any chance that the Prince may inquire further—confirming her suspicion that he did indeed have someone informing him of her bizarre behaviour, now with swordsmanship under the list—but he remains swift and respectful when Georgiana gives out minimal answers. He must’ve known he’d slipped up the last time, and now he’s perfected his mistake.

 _How clever_ , she thinks sardonically, feeling her shoulders droop in slight defeat - but only slightly.

From behind the door, music blares.

Not too loudly, but Georgiana could identify the music well enough from her various lessons.

“Would you like some tea?” The Prince asks suddenly, interrupting the quiet momentary minutes they’ve got wherein Georgiana has left the conversation to cease, and were absorbed, instead, by the music that manages to slip through the cracks of the door. _It really_ is _quite the old castle_ , she’s reminded of again.

Prince Damian doesn’t wait for her to answer.

He has her sit, and pours the kettle of the already-brewed tea right into her cup. For the first few seconds, Georgiana is too shocked to properly react. That is, until recognition sinks in and her cheeks feel warm — or warmer, she supposes — all to the tips of her ears. _How insolent she must have become_ , she scolds internally, _that the Prince of her entire Kingdom is pouring_ her _tea._

“Your Highness,” she finally reacts, reaching out as if she has the power to take anything out of the hand of the son of her country’s ruler. “I must insist—”

Damian waves a gloved hand, “Allow me.”

“You’re the _Prince_.”

For a moment, Damian stops. Not so abruptly that it’s pointedly obvious, but with enough direct cut to the momentum before he continues to pour his own cup of tea that Georgiana holds her breath, waiting. “It seems you often forget, Milady.”

Georgiana swallows, “...Forget what, Your Highness?”

“That you are my fiancé.” He delivers with an air of resignation. Georgiana feels as if she’s missing something. “I’m allowed to spoil my betrothed, am I not?”

He is not looking at her.

No, Prince Damian is holding his cup precisely: the vision of quintessential regality, as he ducks his head slightly, and takes a sip. Georgiana feels bewildered, if only for a moment. Any other times, she ought to feel as if she’s being swooned, as if she’s being seduced. The fast beating of her heart is certainly alarming her.

She’s sure the cause isn’t romance, though.

_What are you hiding?_

He must be hiding something. He must. In the Original Timeline, it was made known again and again that the only time Prince Damian has ever fully let his guard down was when he was around the Main Character. Georgiana refuses to be fooled so easily by these easy quips and hints of an amorous relationship that was never there.

Especially since she knows it too well.

Yes, Damian was always polite in since they were young, engaging in some circumstances; and he was accessible to Georgiana on the virtual screen that there is a closeness there which suggests familiarity, but the bond Damian formed with the Main Character was always deeper. More sincere.

On the other hand, Damian is only attainable to her due to an engagement both of them were essentially forced into as children.

Whatever conversations they have, whatever information they may share: it is only born out of a patriotic sense of responsibility. There was nothing deeper to it, not even when Georgiana, in the Original Timeline, tended to boast and plead and pray that the relationship was meaningful. Damian even said so. At first, as well-mannered as he could, defending the Main Character while she cowered away under Georgiana’s vicious glare. Then later, firmly. Hardened by the true love he’d discovered.

That what they had - it was real as a stage play. Costumes put together to form this acts, but in the end, it remains as such. Acts.

 _I’m allowed to spoil my betrothed, aren’t I_ , he asks.

How hilarious.

If only Georgiana could have this recorded in writing somehow, or on that same technology she had in her past life. She would play it back; would throw it right against this Prince’s stupidly handsome face and laugh at the absurdity.

“Then allow me to spoil you right back,” she scrambles out instead, her voice, despite her cruelest intention, calm as the open sea.

The Prince looks up just as Georgiana stands, and walks to the other side of the table where he sits. She takes her place and digs out the napkin she’s been holding on to for days. On one corner, she’s embroidered a falcon with his wings spread, the Imperial Palace’s insignia behind. Gold. Yellow. Blue. Dark Brown. White.

“I embroidered it with you in mind.” Although no, not really.

She’d embroidered the falcon first, soaring into the sky. It was when she was done, and was trailing a finger down the sharp, beady, yellow eyes that she decided it looked good stitched with the Royal Family’s crest.

“It’s flying…” Is what she hears the Prince murmurs.

Georgiana tilts her chin upwards and, like this, she realises that they both have leaned in close. His gaze is still focused on the napkin held in her palm, so Georgiana, distracted by the proximity, could see the thick lashes there. The blackness of colour in it against his otherwise pale skin. And then…

There are dark circles, she thinks. _Dark circles…?_

Georgiana pulls away to the item she’s holding. “It’s yours.”

“I do not have any words,” whatever traces of astonishment that was previously held into the Crown Prince’s stance evens out into a composure of a gracious, well-mannered royalty. “I will be sure to cherish this, Milady. I thank you.”

 _You’re tired._ She wants to say instead. _What have you been up to?_

“I’m humbled.” She hears herself replies on instinct. “If there is anything else I could do…”

“No,” Damian insists, smiling. “You’ve done enough.”

Somehow, with that expression alone—his smile not quite reaching his eyes, his undereye appearing duller than ever—Georgiana surged with this instant recollection. _Summer of his thirteenth year._ The Prince has just chained his Queen.

He’d done it.

That was why the High Queen hadn’t come.

After years of abuse, years of being tormented and haunted by the possibility that his mother was killed by the High Queen’s hands, this incredible, frightening boy, at age thirteen years old, managed to outmanoeuvre his father’s first and true wife into a state of political powerlessness. In the Original Timeline, he’d confessed how he’d plotted it for years; since the first time he really knew he could never win the High Queen’s affections, and they buried his mother, the High King’s second wife, into her grave along with his stillborn sister.

Georgiana feels a rush of realisation hits her, recalling all the apologetic letters she receives, even though she had stopped putting such a high expectation for him to visit in the first place.

This must be the reason he’d been so busy these past few months.

He was putting his plan into action.

All at once, it occurs to Georgiana that she isn’t facing a mere wealthy child. This man had slain her without even a lick of remorse after all, in the memories that she’s half-sure now are more like nightmares. There is regret, maybe; but he was not saddened by what he’d done. Just that there was blood spilled at all in the end.

And yet, still, Georgiana feels her hands reaching out.

She lays the back of her fingers against one cheek, near his eyes, as though she could wipe the tiredness away if she wills it hard enough. Prince Damian blinks, clearly surprised by the action.

She would be too, she thinks, if there isn’t this swell of stones she could feel mounting up inside, chasing away any childish fantasies that may be loitering about, the ones which are still exuding hope. It’s as if her mind’s come to a grave decision and this is what is moving her body: that she’d already known him as her killer. Everything else, any other reaction, for this small fraction of time, seems mundane in comparison.

Without saying a word back, Georgiana places her hands once more across her laps.

Diplomatically, with her tone unvarying, clear and concise, she explains. “If you’d like to rest, I could look after you.”

Prince Damian, at first, doesn’t answer.

Until: “Milady,” he tries brushing it off with a dimpled smile, this time there’s more effort put into it. More heart. Like he’d known he’d messed up some sort of mask from before, and it’s time to perform it better. He puts more distance between them, as if Georgiana’s made of fire, and he’s caught into the flame. “You jest. I assure you, I am well-rested.”

“With all due respect, I don’t jest, Your Highness.” Maybe she ought to. Maybe that would have had her appear likeable. Alas. “As you’ve said, I am your fiancé. My duty extends to looking after your well-being.”

“There isn’t much to look after if the body you accuse is well, Milady.” His voice has somehow slightly hardened, his gloved hand curling into fists by his knees.

“I do not accuse.” She denies, surprisingly bold; without an apology, without shame. Georgiana continues, her tone equally stubborn, “I merely suggest. I could look after the door if you prefer to lie down. I am not incompetent. And - I care.”

A long silence takes hold of them.

Georgiana finally bows her head, just slightly. She can feel the coming of a blush trace right over the expanse of her face. How laughable. She’s playing right into the trope of a villainess who is a fool for the male lead; who is blinded by the love that only she, herself, seems to hold.

Damian, however, isn’t laughing.

“You care?” He repeats.

“You’re my intended,” She speaks it like she means it. _I loved you, before. I loved you a thousand lifetimes if one kept playing that insolent Game our lives had become in my past life. Again and again, I die because of this love._ “Your Highness, just as you’ve always asked for my health and have me promised to look after myself, I am here to do the same. Or do you wish I lived a life with the loss of you?”

That earns her a chuckle, soft.

When she spares a glance, the Prince is slightly hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees. He bites, just so lightly, onto his bottom lips when he faces back to her. “Loss?”

“I’m sure there’s been records of working men who exhausted themselves into being immobile. _Worse–_ ” she whispers horrifically, “–to their graves.”

“I will not be killed over some lost sleep, Milady.” His voice has gone back to the easiness he usually wears, and when he smiles this time, the corners of his eyes crinkle. Georgiana, for a moment, feels her breath stutters. Again, it’s easy to be caught off guard by the handsome face. For that alone, she returns her attention to her laps, feigning humility. The Prince adds, “I worry it could not be the same said of you, Milady.”

Georgiana, though she tries not to, smiles a little.

“Fair enough.” She concedes, then gently refutes, “I still insist.”

“Will it ease your mind if I do?” His Highness questions, “If I lay down?”

The thirteen year old Crown Prince has dropped his voice to a near whisper, and there’s a hushedness to it which reminds Georgiana as if they’re two children hiding in their make-shift fort, promising to be quiet so they wouldn’t wake any adults in this dead of night.

A sound that symbolises secret, almost, is what it reminds her of. What exactly is the _secret_ , Georgiana couldn’t be certain.

Hers, perhaps, for the prophecy of a Dark Spirit possession that’s to come, and the appearance of a person who holds the Ethereal Magic after decades of speculations over its very existence. His, for the caging decision that he’s executed upon a step-mother he previously could not retaliate. Though neither of them are saying anything about it. So, maybe - not a secret at all.

She nods. “Only if it eases you the same.”

The silence grips them again, and Georgiana watches as Damian breathes right through his nose.

What has he gone through, she wonders? How had he felt looking at the High Queen of their Kingdom and knew, full in his heart, that he’d gotten her right where he wanted her? Without the absolute power she usually yields? That after years of neglect and being put down for a fate he cannot help, he finally has his revenge?

On the outside, the Royal Family had looked so impeccable.

If Georgiana hadn’t known beforehand from the memories, she would’ve been swept along with the act. She wouldn’t have noticed a thing.

 _That’s_ how dangerous Damian really is. She must remember this.

“...and you’ll look after me?”

The Prince is looking at her again, his eyebrows furrowing in a way which erases the usual warm expression he normally wears. Georgiana, iron-willed, refuses to back down and break the stare.

She props her chin higher, her nose pointed heavenwards to the ceiling. “What other duty is more important as a fiancé than to stand by you when you need me, Your Highness?”

Prince Damian’s shoulders, for a moment, shakes with a sound. Almost as if he was laughing, but he runs out of energy soon that, by the end, it only comes out in puffs of breath. He looks down once more, and Georgiana realises he has a thumbed gloved finger tracing the stitching of the dark brown falcon. The one that has its wings spread, unbothered by the King’s emblem’s stitching of gold in the background.

Finally, she hears Damian yields. “Then, if you’ll allow me.”

This is how they spent the next twenty minutes, with the Crown Prince laying on his back by the red chaise lounge provided in the room. Georgiana, sitting on the opposite chair, drinking the rest of the tea and watching for any movement of the staff. When the time comes, four knights — two from the Royal Family, two from House Saab — knock on their door.

Georgiana goes over to wake the Prince. Besides from a short jump at the initial call of his title, Damian sits as if he’d never rested at all. There is barely a wrinkle to his attire; barely a strangled yawn that would usually threaten to escape from the mouth. Any hair that _does_ fall, he brushes right back into place. Once again, Crown Prince Damian is pristine and tidy.

Georgiana meets his gaze when he stands.

The Prince smiles as he holds out a hand, the same sort of routine they've been doing since they were ten and were requested to stand together in public for the first time. There is a familiarity to it. There is also a strangeness of knowing the power that same hand holds. Nevertheless, Georgiana reaches forward, and together, they clasp, glove-to-glove.

“Thank you,” he whispers near her ear, leaning down and barely just brush his lips there, across the high of her cheekbones.

Georgiana is suddenly warm all over.

“You honour me,” she manages not to stutter.

Damian says nothing else, and they’re led to the hall to make their grand entrance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm... what are our thoughts on the Royal Family? They shady? Nah?
> 
> Lol. In any case, I've had a looong day today and I just realise I might not be into my job as much as I was pretending that I was. Please pray for me.
> 
> Again, I have a twitter where I dump all Villainess' Woes content ( [@bellabaratheon](https://twitter.com/bellabaratheon)), do check all the extra snippets and things right there! I'll be posting a general timeline about where we're at for those who are wondering about the characters' age and the placement of events.
> 
> In the next chapter: the Banquet continues. We meet a familiar face. See you guys soon!


	18. The Grand Banquet III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work has been suuuuper draining. I really hope I'll stumble into the career I've wanted, or at least, grow to a comfortable place in my life where I don't totally dislike waking up every day doing what I do. In the meantime, your comments, kudos, and bookmarks (even those hits like dayumm) is _saving_ my life.
> 
> I'll be answering last chapter's comments soon! Thank you for your patience!
> 
> With that said, in the last chapter, we see an interaction between Damian and Georgiana. We learn Damian has politically restrained the High Queen's power. Now, the Banquet continues.

At the bottom of the stairs, Georgiana curtsies to Queen Milla and the other two Princes.

The two young children merely blink back, recognising their older step-brother and possibly questioning the identity of the girl by his arm, but they do not say anything. Georgiana has no true opinion of young children. She is only aware that they could be rowdy and easily manipulated into a tantrum, but the people around her generally tend to like the existence of toddlers, infants, and the like.

The last time one of their maids successfully gave birth on their Estate, Georgiana knew the Head Maid had to have a conference to scold the rest of the staff for always sneaking away to peek at the new babe.

A few days later, the husband — a shoemaker in the nearby town — came over to gather the child and his wife. A few weeks after that, the maid returned, ready to work, and Georgiana was faced with this small volume of disappointment sitting in her chest. She had wanted to sneak over and see the new babe as well then. She couldn't understand what was so exciting about a new, small edition. Aren't babes only known to cry at that age? They're so small, as well. Incapable of doing anything else but to lie there.

Regardless, now the toddler and the young child of the Royal Body are staring right at her.

Closely now, it’s easy to recognise the identical shades of yellow sapphire — akin to a molten gold — that all the Princes share.

Georgiana wastes no time. She curtsies even lower, “Your Highnesses.”

The second Prince, five-year-old Albert, seems to step away, cowering under the suddenly full attention presented to him. He’s overwhelmed, perhaps. This is understandable. As far as Georgiana’s concerned, Albert has only been allowed to join any official functions just last year without the company of his birth mother. Before that, he has had Queen Milla constant by his side, if not his most handmaids around. Not that they were often put to the public anyways.

No. With Crown Prince Damian next-in-line, the Princes’ exposure to the court were not too important. It didn’t help, Georgiana supposes, that most crowd tends to overlook and miss them as well.

“Come on now,” Queen Milla smiles, her thin lips curling motherly. “You know what to do.”

Albert watches his mother for a long time, as if searching for any expression that may contradict her statement, until he finds none and slowly nods. He begins to bow right back: a little stilted, but carefully practised. In a small voice, the five-year-old manages: “I am pleased to meet you.”

“Prince Albert has only recently been put into etiquette class. Greetings are the first thing he learned,” Prince Damian supplies, his explanation smooth and yet - there’s a formality there that separates him easily from being overly attached to anybody in that small circle. Strange, Georgiana observes, how he could be speaking about something that’s to do with his step-brother, _a family member_ , and looks like he isn’t acknowledging the blood relation at all.

They certainly haven’t covered much on the tension of the Imperial Family then, in the Game that she knows.

She wonders if it would help if she's to gather further information on the subject - or if it would be better if she keeps up this distance that she's been maintaining so far. The one that will strain to the point of an annulment the moment they enter the Academy. The latter idea seems far more appealing - though, she supposes, that's expected.

It's a notion she's been comforting herself with: that as soon as their engagement is annulled by Prince Damian himself, she could safely make her escape.

It would be understandable too - after all, what Kingdom could accept a disgraced and shameful noble lady in court after what she's done to the Prince's lover?

She's already playing a part to have herself involved strictly to what the Game desires: the Villainess, the cruel and arrogant Lady who ruined herself in front of so many people - she hopes it's alright if she gives no more thought than necessary regarding Queen Milla and her two children.

“Well, you’re doing exceptionally if I may say so, Your Highness.” Georgiana replies in the end, the smile she has is polite; constructed to portray an image of diplomacy. This is what she could afford; this is how much she could honestly care for the royal family, any of them. An image of diplomacy. “There is always time, of course, to correct the natural ability to perform in courts and official functions, though I reckon with a sufficient amount of effort, all things could be achieved. And Your Highness, Prince Albert, seemed to have worked hard. I praise.”

“You’re gracious,” Queen Milla smiles, speaking for the child whose cheeks flamed into splotches of red. Albert hides and stands nearer to his mother’s skirt. Behind the fabric, Georgiana spots a smile. Just a little, she sees the same dimple Damian's inherited deepened an area near his mouth.

“I speak the truth,” Georgiana explains.

As if by cue, the trumpets blare again. The High King, His Majesty, enters. His cape falls over his shoulders, draped till it covers the floor; in his hand, he holds a silver sceptre. The tip of the sceptre has the crest of the Kingdom. Below it, in a straight line circling back, the seven Great Houses follow. From the bottom of the stairs, he’d looked nothing short of majestic.

Alone, he almost appears like the tales of the first time Vince the Just had taken the throne.

How he had stood there in front of the crowd; how he had looked handsome and delighted and serious all at once, while the celebration of the Kingdom all around him exploded, inviting a new era to set in. The darkness, in his presence, were no more.

 _CLAP!_ The sound resonates. Everybody stands straight.

 _CLAP!_ And everyone, all at once, “Peace be the one who holds the sky.”

High King Luther raises his sceptre. “Peace be the one who calls for Just.”

Everyone joins together - they clap thunderously. Gloved hands thudded all across the room with the effects, and someone must’ve signalled the band to begin their music again, because the music rings and flows right across the large hall. Everyone, wherever you turn, wears a bright grin.

The High King in the meantime reaches the bottom of the stair.

Damian, standing next to Georgiana, wears a dimpled smile; but it’s structured well into the expression Georgiana’s used to seeing him in.

The one Damian’s perfected for the public; made even better, it seems, in front of his father.

“Damian,” High King Luther’s face is sharp, naturally pointed; he gives no emotions away, but disparagement may just be the right term to truly name the expression he seems to emote regardless. “Lady Georgiana.”

“Your High Majesty.” Georgiana curtsies, careful to maintain just the correct amount of eye-contact. It's tricky, these traditions to face the High King and Queens. She's never faltered before; she hopes she won't now.

“Your father,” High King Luther hums. “Has he come?”

“Yes,” she answers. “He awaits you.”

“Hm.” The High King responds once again. Then, done with what little interaction they've had, he moves on.

Besides them, Queen Milla hangs her head. Prince Albert looks expectedly at his father, while Prince Christa seems wholly uninterested by the event. In the Queen’s arms, he lays still; head tucked sleepily in the crook of her shoulders. Georgiana hears more than she sees the stifling tone the High King holds when he addresses the rest of his family.

“Albert,” he calls. “Christa.”

“Your High Majesty.” Albert murmurs, voice high.

Queen Milla echoes, “Your High Majesty.”

The King stares, unflinching; he doesn’t answer her. In fact, more than anything, he looks cross that she had dared emitted her voice in the first place. Just as the tension builds however, it dissipates. The High King’s shoes echo once more against the floor, moving him through the crowd, and the person next to them has their turn to bow and pay their respects.

Soon, the emperor of the Kingdom sits by the assigned throne.

There’s a brief speech from the Head of House Saab. Great Lord Louis Saab standing up and thanking everybody who came. He mentioned the short history of the Banquet, thanked the donations made by each House for the selected orphanages and sick houses as well as local business merchants that they’ve chosen to help this year, and ended it by wishing everyone to have a grand time.

The applause travels like a wave across the hall, dies down only due to the increasing volume of the band along with the laughter and conversation which begins to drift and take over.

As per tradition, the first dance belongs to your chosen partner.

Out of all the routine the Banquet promises, this has got to be one of her most cherished. It wasn’t only that she had to be in the Crown Prince’s arms, but she was expected to have every one of his first dances, further cementing her status as the intended fiancé. _She_ was the one he has promised to share his whole life with. _She_ was the one he had ought to love. _She_ was the one he was meant to rule their Kingdom together with, side-by-side, in all of their elegance, in all of their wit and smarts and beuaty.

And everyone around, they're to stand there; they're to accept it, and celebrate it and compliment them.

 _Why wouldn't them?_ Georgiana used to think. _Surely there wouldn't be anything more perfect._

She understands now it’s merely duty.

An order, more like.

Georgiana feels a part of her heart stays there, at the base of her throat, thundering in warning the whole time Prince Damian spins her on the dancefloor - but she knows quite well it isn’t the sort of beating which suggests anticipation of romance. The chaste kiss he’s left even stings a little by her cheek; it eats at her as much as it tickles the child in her which still stubbornly holds onto hope.

 _Why couldn’t she still love in spite it all?_ It had argued.

 _How could she,_ something in her snaps right back, _when the end result was her own death._

Afterwards, they walk a bit; side-by-side, elbows locked.

Many come forward, older noblemen and younger ones alike, strutting towards them either to say their greetings or to hold short conversations. For a moment, Georgiana finds herself pulled along with the engagement of the public. She’s always adored the attention; and any reason for her to speak up eloquently was not an opportunity she would miss.

That is, until she catches hints of lilac.

Edward Northcott.

He has his lips around the rim of the flute that was served, his eyes trained on the Prince’s movement. By association, draped by Damian’s side, Georgiana is aware he’s eyeing her too. He has been for a while, if her suspicions are correct. Whether it’s from envy, or spite altogether, Georgiana could feel her mood plummeting to the ground. No longer were the high of the ball clouding her gaze.

If they're to continue, Damian and her, down this crowd of people, surely they will meet, the three of them.

There is nothing more, Georgiana decides, that is sickly than to have an antagonistic Edward sneering her down while her detached fiancé potentially taking their interactions in.

Quickly, she squeezes Damian’s arms. Calls, “Your Highness.”

Having just wrapped up a small talk and moving to the next pair who seems eager to approach, the Prince tilts his head slightly downwards; eyebrows raised, questioning.

“I see a friend,” She lies. When she turns back to him, Georgiana smiles - no teeth, lips closed. A refined one, the type that’s expected of a high-status lady such as her. “If I may…”

She lets the implication of her trailed words set into the air.

Georgiana thinks he sees the Prince’s eyebrows twitch, just momentarily, in what she could describe as shock—perhaps even confusion—though that’s replaced quickly with a lovely smile. He squeezes the gloved hand she has on the crook of his elbow, unbothered; from a naked eye, he looks encouraging.

There is no obsessive control Georgiana knows some men of power were known for; there is no underlying anger that Georgiana could hear.

Prince Damian only nods, his tone calm; careful.

“Of course,” he says.

“I’ll excuse myself then, Your Highness.” She bows, then parts before she could be approached. From behind, she hears the call of Damian’s title: another eager nobleman wringing out his opportunity to exchange pleasantries with their future High King. Then, just as quickly, the voices fade. Georgiana dives through the crowd; most are excitedly mingling, some enthusiastically pulling their partners to the centre to dance.

From the corner of her eyes, Georgiana spots a familiar shade of crimson. _Benjamin_ , she thinks with a relief she wouldn't expect she'd ever experienced.

Strange, how life has changed for her since the day she'd essentially _remembered_ her fate.

Even the idea of fleeing from a confrontation had seemed ridiculous and nonsensical merely a year ago. _Months_ , really. What had she had to fear, after all? She was secure in her position, and she was smart enough to know that, no matter the outcome, she'd come out correct and victorious. Yet, here she is, gracefully avoiding Edward in a momentous decision.

Apart of her feels as if she's betrayed her pride, but - with Edward there, she fears the confrontation will fruit to nothing but her turning ugly and red with anger instead of any flimsy win she imagines in her head. She is not like how she'd been; the security she used to harbour before knowing of her possible death is long gone. Perhaps, in that life, in that comfortable and prideful life she's lived, swept away by the fantasies of Damian adoring her right back, she could be ruthless.

Right in this moment however, she knows that Damian, too, though he stands besides her, would be of no help.

All that confrontation would have done is to reveal her volatile and snappish temper, if not her mighty arrogance and pomposity.

Normally, those could be her swords. Those could be her shield against this world that's branded her as an enemy - but not now. After all, it is yet her time to shine as a monstrous villainess no matter how eager Edward seems to want to pull that out of her.

Edward shall have his victory when they were seventeen and she, abandoned by the public.

Not now, however. Not today.

 _He’s merely a child_ , Georgiana still thinks bitterly, in spite it all. _Poking and pulling at my pigtails to elicit some sort of reaction, just with this purpose for some prank that no one else finds funny._ It will not be worth the effort to fall for any of his tricks.

Georgiana pauses on her step.

“Lady Wischer,” she hears her mouth form around the name, and, easily, her feet changes its course to the familiar image of a timid-looking lady she'd been hoping to chat with.

Standing idly in the corner, looking half as if she's merging with the walls, and half hopeful to be asked to dance on the dancefloor, Maren Antoinette is in an alabaster-coloured dress patterned with green flowers around the edges. In a crowd like this, surrounded by other dresses and sharp uniforms, it seems that it is easy for Lady Wischer to fall back into the background. Odd, Georgiana thinks, for someone with such a bright, adoring hue for her hair. Yet, the truth is stark clear.

What it is, she wonders, about timidness that paints its inhibitor in such a way; that could have them disappear so easily to the point of unnoticed.

Even back in Abbas' territory, Maren Antoinette were not the first Lady Georgiana sees. It is a shame.

Back in the present however, any crippling thought disappears. Lady Wischer turns at the sound of her name called and, quickly, a small, pleasant smile adorns her gentle face. “Lady Bartlett,” she returns, curtsying in greeting.

“Lady Georgiana, as you know,” Georgiana corrects with a smile, graceful and quick as ever, while their gloved hands grasped to meet. Their cheeks, momentarily, press together—first the left, then the right—in an imitation of a greeting kiss. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you.”

“Then c-call me by my name too, Milady,” she insists first, before Georgiana's second statement, it seems, catches up with her.

“Oh?" Maren Antoinette exhales, “I am ever so honoured, Milady.”

“You’re beyond humble,” Georgiana points out. What a contrast, the speech pattern between them. Here, Georgiana's voice rings loud and clear. It is trained so with the expectation that she would have to address the court one day as its highest ruler, while Maren Antoinette remains its humility and carefulness. In it, she seems like the children they truly are: just girls experiencing their social gatherings for the first time in the years leading to their debut. “When I am the one who is meant to thank you.”

“Thank me?” Maren Antoinette’s eyes are large; she seems confused.

“Why, weren’t you the one to help me during Lady Demetria’s social meet?”

“Ah,” Maren Antoinette casts her gaze down to the floor. She seems startled by the recollection; perhaps in the time of Georgiana remembering how she'd helped, Lady Wischer herself was remembering how she'd been reprimanded. What was it about again? Yes. Georgiana had been upset that Lady Wischer had seemed slow, then looked to be intimidated by her. In the moment of weakness, Georgiana had compared herself to a monster. _Had she been that frightening_ , she had asked herself angrily, and Maren Antoinette has had to pay for it. “I was happy to assist in any way, Milady.”

Georgiana swallows around a ball of guilt. “And I am happy to thank."

There is a singular beat which suspends in the air, stifling their conversation into a stop. It is rare, Georgiana ponders, how often conversations truly stop between herself and another noble person? Not too many. A lot of people often have many things to say; that, or they were dying to know her thoughts.

Georgiana scrambles over any bits of information she could mention — normally ladies are fond of talks regarding the search of romance — until she halts herself on the topics of greens and herbs. How Maren Antoinette had looked confident when speaking of them, how she'd been so well-informed and learned.

 _Oh_ , Georgiana recalls back in realisation. _I’ve been meaning to know more of that, haven’t I?_

“You mentioned your family grew herbs.” Georgiana started, waving over a staff who were bringing along small food on the trays. “Medicines, if I heard correctly.”

“We do,” Maren Antoinette still mainly has got her gaze downwards, content on watching her two hands fiddling with one another.

For that one singular moment, _another weakness_ , irritation spikes within Georgiana. The only times one was discouraged to look away from meeting anybody’s eyes were in a cleaning ritual in the church; the other, when one has to present themselves in the court in front of the High King. They are in neither, as far as Georgiana is concerned. But she tampers down before any reckless sentence could escape her mouth. Georgiana merely tilts her head downwards; spaces her words out the way Mother would whenever Mother calms her down from her many tantrums.

“May I remind you, Milady, that it is rude to not maintain the eye-contact with the person you are speaking with?” The waiter comes then, and Georgiana's surprised, really, that her query has came out poised and collected. Again, an image of diplomacy - with perhaps the slight tint of the tone her etiquette teacher might've used. Just to amuse herself, Georgiana teases, “What do you have to fear? Have I been bearing my fangs too clearly?”

 _Now, I’m just being obvious of my role as a villainess,_ she thinks rather sardonically, just as Maren Antoinette raises her shoulders together, shaking her head fervently.

Georgiana is choosing the assortment of food on the tray when the light pink-haired girl in front of her fully speaks up.

“N-no! I…” Despite the darker colour to her skin, Maren Antoinette’s cheeks plumps with redness. She attempts: “I’m… not very good with conversing, Milady. I did not mean to offend you.”

“You have, unfortunately.” Again, the similarity is striking: Georgiana could imagine Benjamin in front of her right now, or at least the much younger version of him. These days, especially since the training has started, they’ve been able to communicate without him always flinching nor her always being spiteful right back. In fact, most of the time, she’d been welcomed to a few of his responses. Perhaps, she gathers, that is how one ought to feel when they do not mind having a sibling.

“But mind it not,” Georgiana adds quickly, glossing her eyes over the scene all around them. Unlike the first day when she and Benjamin had snuck around to see the stairs and the empty room, today the walls are decorated with lights. It illuminates every face in the hall, reflects kindly on every dress and suit. It's striking, like a dream. Who would've known - such a splendid event were to be the gateway of her downfall years from now. “Foolish mistakes are meant to be left in the past. The next step forward is to always better oneself, do you not agree, Milady?”

“Ah, yes, of… Of course,” Maren Antoinette stutters through her answer. An odd girl, she is; to preserve such timidness when there isn’t any reason to.

“I'm glad then.” Georgiana’s reply is sharp, though there is no harmful intent behind it, truly. It’s the few things she could never master the act of: the role of a gentle Lady. Georgiana has always been eloquent, has always been presentable and sharp and quick-witted with an intelligent many educators marble at - but she could never be the dainty girl with the small, tinkling voice. Her mother is a great example of it. She is soft, and easy to love. Georgiana recalls, quite gravely, how the Main Character might be the same. “Cowardice does not suit you, Milady. You’ve got bright, inquisitive eyes. Why risk hiding them away?”

A compliment.

Could Maren Antoinette understand, Georgiana wonders, that that's what she has received? Or could Lady Wishcer be slow to take them in? Would she change her mind of Georgiana, the rigid and strict Crown Prince's betrothed, into this kind creature when she is not? No. Georgiana is bred to be vengeful and antagonistic. The outcast noble girl who sold herself to be the villain. She is not kind. Georgiana hopes Maren Antoinette will see her as who she is — _honest_.

Whatever the interpretation, the young Wischer heiress blinks at last. There is a trace of soft understanding that shapes her lips, halfway between a smile and something wondrous, before the girl nods her head. 

“I… I shall try then, Lady Georgiana.”

“Splendid.” Georgiana accepts. She moves on. “I’d like to know more. Regarding your family's occupation, that is. If you’re open to discussing them sometimes.”

Maren Antoinette seems flustered; perhaps she thinks Georgiana were merely being polite regarding her interest. “Of course, Milady. What would you like to know?”

“I’ve been curious, is all. As you know, my Lady Wischer, I have vicious flutters in my head. It’s nothing too serious, certainly. I assume it may be due to my injury last fall. You see, I’ve fallen down my horse and I hit my head pretty terribly during. It's caused such grievance to my family.”

“I-I’ve heard.” The girl gasps. Even in that action, she’s refined, and soft. She could easily be the Main Character, Georgiana thinks, for all the frailty she possesses. Georgiana feels a horrible wave of agitation rakes from inside of her, but she holds them down. Swallows it along with the slightly salted fish she's picked up from the tray of delicacy. “I am so ever sorry for the incident.”

“I assure you, Milady, I need not your apology,” Georgiana insists, “After all, you were not at fault.”

“Still—”

“Still nothing.” A reassuring smile, almost, is given to her. It is exhausting, suddenly, to follow such etiquette. Why must one apologise for a tragic event as if they’ve got a hand in helping it happen? Would Willow apologise, years later, should Georgiana fall to the prey of darkness and wield the Dark Magic to her execution? Would Father blames himself, would Mother think she has not done enough when she'd been nothing but a kind and patient parent? It shudders her to think. “Your tea was extremely helpful. It’s _been_ helping me in fact, ever since.”

“Oh.” Maren Antoinette smiles; this time, it's slightly fuller. Warmer to see. “I’m glad.”

“It’s gotten me interested to know more of what your House grows.” _Once I make my escape, I shall need all the surviving details I could get._ Not only could it aid her should she suffers any injury during her run, she could use the knowledge to trade. She could convince a sly merchant if she was being fooled by a rotten herb or otherwise. The investment into this knowledge shall not be wasted. “If you’ve time to spare, I’d like to invite you to our Estate.”

“You are being true, Lady Georgiana?” Maren Antoinette exclaims, breathlessly.

Georgiana raises an eyebrow, surprised. “Why? Am I known to be a liar?”

Again, the sharpness of the way she responds slips from her. Whatever courage Maren Antoinette has called upon to not look down skitters away. Her gaze, her frightened gaze, drops to the floor; to their dresses which are almost touching the ground if the end-trim haven’t already. “Oh no, Milady!” she cries gravely, “Not at all. That is not what I meant.”

“I jest,” Georgiana manages; on her face, she attempts a cool smile, her tone an even sound. “I fear my humour is often dark. Peculiar, one might even say.”

“Or I, simply obtuse.” The girl replies, too quickly, and any trace of the familiar playfulness of a conversation leaves Georgiana’s body. She feels cold, but not in the usual case wherein the wind is strong and the night sky shields the sun of its heat, no. It’s different; shattering, even. This is not an uncommon practise, and yet Georgiana feels an overwhelming need to argue on why it is simple for this other girl to degrade herself so easily?

Does the fault lay in her teacher? Or has their shared society intimidated her?

Georgiana has a vision of Benjamin’s strong-willed expression staring her down, arguing upon a cause suggesting the disparity in social classes. Or, perhaps, the suffocation from mingling in it when you are unwanted; when you’re the outcast. _I find it stifling_ , her half-brother’s arguments are heavy in her memories. _Meaningless. Nobody is ever sincere._

“My dearest Lady,” Georgiana raises her hand and cradles Maren Antoinette’s own between her gloved ones. “You put words in my mouth.”

“Lady Georgiana…?” Maren Antoinette’s eyes are large.

She really _is_ quite beautiful, in the way fragile flowers typically would be. A daisy, perhaps. Or a baby’s breath. Suddenly, Georgiana is disturbed to think there would be malicious hands reaching over to pick such a thing apart. Could she stop them, these hands, she wonders? Could she have the power to?

“You speak so ill of yourself when I think so highly of you. Do you not, after all, ease my pain?”

“I… I’m slow, Lady Georgiana.” Maren Antoinette argues, shifting her gaze to the floor once more. “That is all. I mean not to sully your good name.”

“Then I must ask you to not sully yours.” Georgiana straightens her posture, “Come. I’d like you to meet my half-brother. That is, if you are willing, Milady. He’s a bastard of our House, you see, so he carries not our name. Yet, I must confess he’s… _adequate_.” Adequate, certainly, in the sense that he could speak well and behave as he ought to. Georgiana knows, however, from their sole meeting with the Northcott heir alone, that those basic actions are not enough. He stands so still during that horrible encounter.

And yet, similarly, what could he have done otherwise? Perhaps, she should re-evaluate the standing of her brother’s bastardy. If to be held as a Bartlett could assist Benjamin to face the other sons of lords more confidently, what harm could it do? She could have a talk with Father. Could discuss to quicken the process of Benjamin's legitimacy and true adoption.

 _That’s a thought for another time_ , Georgiana quickly accepts, now sliding Maren Antoinette’s hand in between her elbows as they move through the crowd.

“He reminds me of you,” Georgiana says, though she hopes that is not being received horribly. No one likes to be compared to a bastard, after all. Georgiana quickly amends, “Not of the legitimacy, of course, just that he’s easily frightened by social etiquette. He’s easy to describe himself lacking.”

“Your bastard brother, Milady?” Maren Antoinette echoes, sounding unsure. “That could not be. I… I see him. O-or saw, I suppose. He is - he does not look weak.”

“No, he does not. Such strange things we ponder. Such twisted ways our mind could make of ourselves. Perhaps, like you do, he thinks himself slow, and it shows in his movements. Additionally, I figure, if you are meant to come over, you shall meet him sooner or later. I mischievously vote for sooner. Oh there, I see him. Benjamin!”

Benjamin stiffens.

Quickly, Georgiana takes in what he’s worn for the night. A sharp suit, the colour dark, and the lapels embroidered just faintly of silver patterns - the same pattern famous to come from Father's territory. Benjamin, to put it simply, does not look shabby; though he does not brighten the room, either. She blames it on his hunched shoulders and quiet composure in this case rather than the presentation itself, however. She's sure the tailor has done their absolute best to dress the Bartlett children.

He is simply unlike the popular Prince nor the ever ethereal and seductive Northcott heir.

 _He was never meant to_ , something inside Georgiana vehemently whispers. No. It is this awkwardness and the ability to continuously maintain this social distancing which has appealled Benjamin to the Main Character. And, oh, how sad that must be: to have your character defined by the attention you will receive from the person you haven’t met.

“Brother,” Georgiana could see Benjamin making haste to correct his posture; one hand splayed on his chest, the other folded behind his back. Though he seems to recognise her, the slight panic in his eyes do not dissipate. The shorter the distance Georgiana and Maren Antoinette has overcome, the paler Benjamin seems to look. “Allow me to introduce, Lady Maren Antoinette Wischer.”

Benjamin is mechanical. “Milady,” He attempts, his words choppy. Untrained, almost. “I believe we’ve met.”

“O-oh,” Maren Antoinette disentangles herself from Georgiana, a posture that is nearly curtsy; nearly a bow. Awkward, the both of them. It is painful to watch. “Yes, I believe we have.”

“You’ve helped Georgie,” Benjamin responds automatically. And then, as if he’s remembered something daunting, he splutters. “Ah, forgive me. I mean, Lady Georgiana.”

“Silly, this bastard brother of mine.” Georgiana sniffles, noticing the shifted glances Maren Antoinette gives. Uncomfortable, she imagines, being in the middle of something so sensitive: that is, the obvious gap of power between one who is born legitimate, and one who is not. “He is only polite during the oddest times. Mind not of what you call me, Benjie. Introduce yourself to the Lady.”

“Oh.” Benjamin bows then, much more properly, and offers a hand. “Have my apology, Lady Wischer. I am Benjamin Black, a ward under Great House Bartlett, protected under my birth father’s grace, Great Lord Griffin. I am pleased to meet your acquaintance.”

“I…” To her surprise, Maren Antoinette does not hesitate - her gloved hand lays so softly against Benjamin’s inviting palm. Georgiana believes she suspects there’s a second, more natural coat of blush which paints under the heavy pigment of her make up, but, Georgiana inwardly argues, that might just be a trick to the eyes. Maren Antoinette seems to immediately gather her thoughts, “I - yes. Me too. I mean! I - I am Maren Antoinette, firstborn daughter of my father’s House, the Wischer, u-under the Great House Vanderburgh. Pleased…. Pleased to meet you, Benjamin.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Benjamin kisses Maren Antoinette’s knuckles, a slow act.

Benjamin is trembling, though. Thankfully, the lady whose hand he’s pecked gives no indication to which she minds. In fact, aside from a slight hitch to her breath, Maren Antoinette seems graceful from the interaction; entranced, even, if Georgiana daresay.

“Suppose I ought to explain that Maren Antoinette will be coming to our Estate often should the lady agree to my invitation,” Georgiana says when she could finally clasps the Wischer’s noble daughter’s hand back into her own. “I’ve much to learn, Lady Maren Antoinette. I do believe we will all become good friends.”

Benjamin gives her an odd look; Maren Antoinette, for the first time that night, presents a shy but genuine smile.

The thought of any capture targets disappear.

Georgiana sees a day ahead with little headaches and maybe, if she’s quite fortunate, an achingly ordinary, though fleeting, peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much once again for everybody who has come this far to read this original work (♡˙︶˙♡)!!!
> 
> If you don't know - Villainess' Woes is currently **second** in place if you search for Original Work and filter them by 'Reincarnation' and sort them by 'Kudos'. That's... _wow_. Wow, you guys. That's amazing!! I just want to thank you all so much again for making that possible! I'm so hype and blessed ♡♡♡ Sending so much love!!!
> 
> For more updates on Villainess' Woes, [feel free to follow this journey on twitter too!](https://twitter.com/bellabaratheon)


	19. Bad Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This... came out MUCH LATER than I expected in terms of hour cause I was planning on publishing it right at 12AM but I couldn't because work has been killing me (＞﹏＜)
> 
> I'll be answering everyone's comments from the previous chapter soon! Please give me a moment (〃＞＿＜;〃)
> 
> In the meantime, a big SHOUT OUT to everyone who's reading, leaving kudos, bookmarking, commenting on the story, and even those who are following me on Twitter, I'm just... so moved. Truly, that has been a major drive because every week, when I'm writing down new chapters, or new scenarios, all I could think about was that I couldn't wait to share it with my readers. Even if they're merely passing by and giving it a quick read! It's so exciting! So thank you so much! I see you, I appreciate you.
> 
> In the previous chapter, Georgiana meets the Royal Family. Later, she escapes before she could bump into Edward and meets Maren Antoinette. Benjamin and Maren Antoinette officially meets; Georgiana plots her escape.
> 
> We continue.

The Grand Banquet is expected to last a week.

This is the norm.

And so, for the next few days, the same routine continues. Mornings are spent getting ready before joining the rest of aristocratic members for a mass breakfast, the afternoon are usually self-managed—some noble women taking the chance to visit the local areas, others were more keen to gather together and discuss unfinished or unsettled businesses—and the evening till night were when the ball from the night before resumes.

The Royal Family returns to the Capitol on the fourth day, just as breakfast is concluded.

"I've had a splendid time with you," Damian tells her the morning the Royal Entourage are meant to leave.

Behind him, Georgiana could see Queen Milla is entertaining the rest of the princes. Young Christa is fussing about, curious of the grass and yet so simultaneously fearful of them all at once. Prince Albert, on the other hand, seems to be talking miles a minute, tugging at his mother's shirt and gesturing his arms wildly about. There's an odd richness to his speech which suggests heavily of a mixed dialect. Perhaps he's picked it up from one of the nursemaids who were assigned to him.

From the West region, she suspects. The dialogue is slightly heavy, some letters spoken roughly - famous from those usually born a western Westrian.

It is quite...  _ adorable _ , in a way.

A little unsettling, if Georgiana is allowed to be honest, but only because it's become jarring to her how simply different the information she's been given from the Game that was in her previous life versus what she's been receiving here as she's living through the events.

In the Original Timeline — the timeline to which Georgiana knows, the one where she's watched herself succumbed to the same awful fate again and again — there was never a mention of any other siblings among the royal family. Prince Damian was always a solitary figure. If they had included any familial background whatsoever, it was always the dead mother, the evil stepmother who was the High Queen, and the sister who has never even breathed life.

It raises suspicion.

Adding to that, just this morning, Georgiana has been graciously invited to join the Royal table during the morning feast.

It's the first time that happened.

To say she was shocked by the invitation would be an understatement. Years since the engagement has been established, the highest honour she's to be granted as the Prince's fiancé had been Prince Damian's first dances in all the monumental balls and parties. Certainly, the status of House Bartlett was closer to the Imperial circle, but there isn't much difference, truly, which separates the advantages before and after they were promised together.

After all, their House was already a descendent of the Holy Entourage.

Such lineage have granted them a permanent place among the Council, an instant slot among the most influential. What other privilege could they possibly gain other than satisfying the Church's insistence on the marriage and Georgiana's extreme affection towards the Prince?

Yet, there she'd been, right by Damian's right side — a place she never thinks she would ever occupy.

In the game, that place by His Highness' side had always belonged to the Main Character's.

It was the ultimate show of power, really, though the Main Character has never meant it as such. Not in the narration that the Gamer would play, anyways; not from the point of view we were presented. But it is -  _ a show of power _ , that is. To be in a position where, rightfully, the fiancé should've been.

In those Original Timelines however, that position was never even granted to Georgiana from the beginning. So not only it was a challenge of power, it was also a show to humiliate Georgiana in front of hundreds of powerful, young crowds. Of course, in the Original Timeline, the Main Character remains clueless each time they are confronted. Customs and expectations like these were of no concern to someone with a commoner's background, and she would play the clueless protagonist ceaselessly.

Thinking of it now, Georgiana feels a meaningless rage boiling in the pit of her stomach.

What she dislikes most must probably be the lack of self-preservation the Main Character inhibits.

The foolishness, if she's to be precise, that comes with it.

What is it like, she wonders, having so little to think about? Having only the heart to follow, but not the mind? Not the intelligence? Not the wariness?

Back to the present, the sun is high in the sky; the carriage the Royal Entourage has is ready for departure.

Georgiana tells herself she doesn't feel the stifling of the weather or of Prince Damian's intent stare - yet her eyes strayed to the third queen in the background. It's a sense of detachment she's trying to afford for herself. The week so far has been so overwhelming between the encounter with Edward, the fragile friendship she started with Maren Antoinette to which she hopes would aid in her escape, and the Prince's sudden attention.

Georgiana couldn't wait to be home; couldn't wait to embrace the comfort of the pristine walls she's known her whole life.

Is it due to the first night, she wonders - this abrupt alteration of routine from the Prince?

Had that really taken such an effect, or is it perhaps the fault of her overthinking such an event that's caused such anxiety?

It's a constant concern to ponder whether she's altered a major part of this 'Game' — the fate that she fears has been pre-determined — and has unlawfully taken the place where the Main Character ought to be. She worries, truly, that  _ that _ may cause an ire from a higher being somehow; may pull in consequences which could hinder her escape by the end.

However, what proof does she have that the experiences she's gathering now  _ isn't _ aligning with how the Game proceeded in her memories?

Perhaps Damian and Georgiana Bartlett in that Original Timeline have had their time being seen together for more than just on the dance floor before their academy years begin. Perhaps that was why the Georgiana in that timeline was so easily angered and irritated as soon as she saw the Main Character replacing her place. Yes. That could happen. After all, the game has only stated that Damian and her weren't loving towards one another.

That doesn't mean that they, at least, couldn't be friendly.

Outwardly, Georgiana only smiles, finally catching Damian's eyes under the hat to which has been shielding the sun from directly hitting her face.

What had he asked of her again? Right. That he's had a splendid time.

With that awfully charming smile, no less. He really  _ is _ quite a beautiful character; a pity that they were never meant for each other.

"And I, you." Georgiana replies, keeping her voice even, while hoards of passerby — members of House Saab and the staff of the Imperial Body alike — holler and surround the area to ready the Royal Family's true departure.

An hour after, the Royal Family is safely on their journey.

The Grand Banquet resumes.

Without the Prince obviously having her full attention, most of the young ladies begin to hurry over. Days and nights continue to be spent like that - girls of prominent families eager to hear any tales from Georgiana regarding her engagement, while others relay gossips of romantic trysts and devious affairs just to spend time with their future High Queen. What couldn't fit between the two, Georgiana learns to adapt: speaking of religion, any recent philosophy she's read, even engages in topics discussing trading prices.

When the week comes to an end, a part of her feels despondent as much as it is elated to be returning home.

Yet, it is home that she must return to.

Benjamin, through luggages being hauled and fastened to their carriages, seems quiet throughout the affair. Whether that is due to the fact that he's been left quite on his own for the rest of the week when Father and her were simply not along to accompany him, or he is merely not in the mood, Georgiana does not inquire further. She's too busy drying out the tears of the few girls who have come around to bid their farewell.

_ It is such a shame _ , Georgiana thinks.

She has never disliked this. The social events, the parties, the mingling.

She even favours these girls whom she's become acquainted with. They're quite lovely; some of them stubborn and hot-tempered, some mischievous and funny, some coy and attentive to others. Certainly, she's taught herself again and again that the world is cruel. It is not far-fetched of her to admit that most, if not all, the girls she's met these past few days shall not show any support towards her during the climax of her social ruin.

But - it is so easy to wish that she could be safe within the sisterhood net they've created.

Soon, too soon, the moment passes, and the Bartletts begin their journey home.

The ride is mostly quiet, safe for a few chatters Willow shares with the other maids. Georgiana feels a rush of relief that they haven't attempted to pull her into any long conversations despite the excitement of the recent event.

She basks, instead, in the silence that she is left with. Like this, alone with the view of the passing trees, it is easy for one to slip deeper into any thoughts of past lives and consequences; of a future she fears would be certain than fictional. Yet, for some odd reason, she doesn't.

No, Georgiana's mind goes quiet. It's rare.

This goes on for days.

It doesn’t really occur to her until the fourth day of their journey how she’d always been moving from one motion to another since she was a child. Always the centre of attention, pushed directly into a brighter spotlight. Always in a lesson, rushed over for more.

Then, she’d been engaged - and whatever ambition she must’ve had for herself grew tenfold. She never stops.

In those small moments granted to her by the way the carriage is transporting them all away, Georgiana finally feels as if she’s taken a pause.

Perhaps this is what ...  _ freedom _ is like.

Though it's silly to think so, she dismisses it quickly. Freedom? Is her life not free? Can she not walk right now and few could tell her no? Could she not buy anything she wants and obtain them? Most of all, does she not have a sense of self, entitled to what every free person has a right to - a shelter, food, a place to rest, health and social stability?

_ I must’ve become too arrogant to think I am anything but free, _ Georgiana scolds herself, gritting her teeth, and grows irrevocably upset at the reminder of this arrogance. Isn’t this the sort of thinking that will contribute to her downfall?

Stupid, silly Georgiana. All those high hopes and dreams and time spent into all the lessons, those dresses, the late night practising how to speak and walk and not stumble onto her own two feet like an  _ imbecile _ , and all that granted her was an audience she thought would stand by her side proving her so shamelessly wrong.

_Arrogance_ , that was the trait that will have eventually have her turn to Dark Magic. _Malice._ _Cruelty_. 

Yet hadn’t she the right to turn such a way?

All she’d ever done was grooming herself to become Prince Damian’s High Queen, and he hadn’t even as much  _ looked _ at her — not really, not the same way he will look upon the Main Character. In her past life, she had thought it sweet. Endearing, if not exciting, once the Prince’s route was unlocked and explored with each correct answer. She had thought it an achievement, playing as the Main Character, to have obtained his adoration.

_ Now, I would feel the sharpness of a sword within my body if I provoked this man’s lover _ , Georgiana splays a protective hand over her stomach. Instead of the shape of a weapon however, all she feels there are laces and the pattern of her corset through the material.

Freedom.

Georgiana turns back to the trees.

No, perhaps she is not truly free. She’d been cornered by memories of a past life and she’s still fighting for survival. One day however, she will meet her freedom. What were once disastrous traits that would secure her dooming fate, she will use it to be absolutely certain that she could be let go instead. Let this damn game villainize her to the point of exaltation.

_ She will not fall, not on anyone’s sword. _

_ And, _ Georgiana clenches her fist, setting her mind to it,  _ none of her family shall follow her ruin. _

Just then, Georgiana’s concentration is cut by noises. Music, more like. Clapping of hands and laughter, accompanied by the familiar sound of musical instruments. The carriage slows.

“Why?” Georgiana asks one of her maids, though she realises quickly that it’s fruitless. They have as much an idea as she would, being where they’d been during the ride. That is, in the same carriage as her. The sky outside, she notes, is still bright; it is yet time, she knows, that they’re to stop for rest. “What’s happened?”

A knight riding by must’ve heard her as he brings his horse near the window now, answering, “We’ve reached the borders of the territories, m’young lady. There seems to still be celebration in the village.”

_ Ah. _ That must be where the music is coming from. Georgiana nods in understanding. “Will Father stop?”

“This knight does not know, mlady. I would ask the Great Lord if it pleases you.”

“It will, thank you.” Georgiana replies curtly, watching the knight go before her eyes return once more to the scenery outside.

From her view, she could only catch glimpses of a village by the bridge that they must cross. There are colorful banners set up around, even to the trees leading into the small town; children grasping their mother’s hand with flowers in their hair as they walk by the dirty road to where Georgiana assumes would lead them to their place of living now that they’ve had a day in the sun.

“They know, the villagers,” Willow whispers with a smile, looking out towards the same view Georgiana has been watching. “They know guests from across the land pass by here. I reckon there’d be a market full of trinkets and tools.  _ Special to the South _ , they’d call it.”

At this, Georgiana smiles. “That’s certainly innovative.”

“Cheap too, usually. Much cheaper than the ones sold in larger cities. Perhaps if my Great Lord stops, we could buy little things for the girls back home.” Willow adds, always so sisterly.

Lucille, the other maid, jumps. “Oh, that would be  _ wonderful! _ ”

For a moment, the carriage is once again overthrown by the conversations of what the villagers could possibly sell. Trinkets in the South come in the forms of pearls and seashells. Sometimes, curiously, there’d be sand — colorful ones, put in a neat bottle to form a pattern.

It’s a curious thing, Lucille claims, many people in Barisol have never even  _ gone _ to the beach. What a splendid thing it would be, to give them something so foreign?

Georgiana wonders momentarily if she could buy some for Mother. Certainly, there were the pearls she and Father had chosen when the merchants had come one afternoon during the week of the Banquet. There was silk, too, and Georgiana’s sure there were furs of Southern animals sitting by the carriage which carried their luggage to be turned into clothes.

Yet colorful sands and painted seashells still seem appealing as added gifts.

Eventually, news comes around that they are stopping.

“Only for a little while, M’lady. I’m afraid my Great Lord intends for us to reach your Mother soon,” The knight, this time it’s Ser Ederick who has come over, informs.

“That is fine, Ser,” Georgiana responds, “I shall ask to be escorted as the handmaidens and I roam the area. We won’t go far; just enough, really, that we will acquire what we’ve searched for.”

Ser Ederick nods and soon, the girls are set to explore.

While it isn’t quite as lovely, Georgiana thinks, as the celebration of Spring Coming anywhere — for Spring Coming will always remain as the biggest celebrations in their Kingdom — it is still quite charming. There is an air of celebration despite the fact that the market that’s been set up isn’t too crowded to the point of congestion. No, Georgiana, Willow along with the other two maids as well as the two knights escorting them walk down the path easily.

In the bigger cities, this would be impossible.

Georgiana comes forward to a particular store where an old lady — worn, tanned skin; a wrinkled smile; and a greying hair — sits behind the counter. She is knitting, this lady, humming to an old tune Georgiana thinks is famous in the South. A remarkable knitting skill, the young Lady of House Bartlett could admit, though she really  _ is _ quite frail, this lady, for even the act of handling the needles seems slow, and she is shaking.

Georgiana opens her mouth, ready to ask for a price on one of the knitted scarves when a savage-like roar bursts into the air.

It’s piercing. It will haunt her nightmare for  _ days _ .

Right in front of her, the old woman falls from the chair. There is a man — a middle-aged man, Georgiana would think, with an unshaven face and long, dirty black hair — kneeling over the woman. He is screaming, shouting. There is a cry of  _ ‘Mother’ _ somewhere, though Georgiana isn’t sure because suddenly she’s being pulled back; cut off too quickly from the scene.

Someone, a maid of hers or a passerby, screeches in agony. Her knights’ voice toppled over one another, mixing into sounds Georgiana could not distinguish. Is it an order he’s barking? Or is it the same shocked noises everybody seems to be making?

In the man’s hand, the middle-aged man with the dirty black hair, he holds a knife — and he’s bringing it down, again and again, into the old woman’s chest.

He’s crying.

Somebody is trying to pull him off.

He swings the knife back, screaming again.

Georgiana’s gaze lands on the needles straying on the ground; the same one the old woman was grasping merely seconds ago, knitting the patterns Georgiana was thinking to praise and inquire about. There is blood on the needles now. There is blood splattering and pooling everywhere.

“No…” A dull voice, hers, trickle out. When Georgiana turns, she realises she is in Willow’s arms. Willow is pale; using such tremendous energy to pull Georgiana away. Where to? Georgiana isn’t sure - all she could recall was that she wanted to buy something pretty for Mother. She was thinking of a knitted scarf. An old woman. Then, there was a man. The woman fell. “N-no.”

“We must leave, Little Lady.”

“No, she- she was— th-the old lady—” Georgiana finally reacts, pushing Willow away.

Had the old lady committed a crime? Such an atrocious act. Such… such absurdity. Where is the law? Where is the justice in it? Why had she been targeted when she had only been sitting there calmly, and why must it be that way? Why must there be…  _ blood… _ so many of them.

Georgiana hears a sob. She fears it may be coming from her own chest.

“Milady—”

“We must save h-her,” Georgiana insists, “She has been- th-there has been— it is  _ unlawful _ , Willow, we  _ cannot— _ ”

“Milady,” Willow calls, serious. “You are the Crown Prince’s fiancee and the daughter of a Great Lord. You cannot stay here. We must return to our carriage at once.”

“ _ I am a witness! _ ” Georgiana yells, the force of her sobbing has her sound cracked. Broken. She is shameful, yet she cannot stop. “My words could see to it that the man’s crime is punished! I was there. I was… Willow, I was in front of her. We must go. W-we must help.”

For a moment, Georgiana knows her pleas have worked. Willow, though her lips stay in a thin line, her gaze flickers, hesitating. Willow stops sounding so sure, “Milady…”

“Please,” Georgiana sobs, and oh, her chest hurts. Her whole body does.  _ Her stomach _ . The knife, god. How had no one noticed the knife? “Pl-please. Do we not care? Do I… Please…”

She is unsuccessful, for a few seconds after her last words tremble out from her mouth, one of Father’s knights has come in and swooped her to where she’s aware the rest of their family’s company awaits. Georgiana shouts and kicks until her throat feels as if it’s been scratched raw from the inside. She must be hideous to look; so ungraceful to see.

For that short moment though, she doesn't care.

Georgiana recalls, dumbly, how foolish she’d been thinking the events around her are merely a  _ Game _ ; a simulation created to safely deliver a story. Death, to her, was merely a feeling; a prediction. Something she was cautious about, but it was nothing more than just that - a caution.

She is wrong.

She’s seen it for what it is now; death is a body crumpled up on the ground, bleeding out. It is a woman who can no longer be saved. It was a man whom the old woman seemed to know. It is her, five years from now, lifeless.

Reaching into Father’s arms, Georgiana faints.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anybody expect that ( : ౦ ‸ ౦ : )
> 
> Again, if you wanna know extra tidbits or just some fun facts, I do talk (and almost spoil this story) a lot on twitter, which you could find here [@bellabaratheon!](https://twitter.com/bellabaratheon) Tell me your theories, what you're expecting next, who are we shipping now or who do we think will be shipped together hmmm [thinking emoji] I would love to hear it!
> 
> But if you're more comfortable just sticking around here, that's alright too! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ I would be thankful either way.
> 
> In the next chapter, we return to the Bartlett estate. Georgiana faces the aftermath of this traumatic incident. A new news dropped. See you guys soon!


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